Are You Nobody, Too?
by favoritefullbloodedhawiian
Summary: A detention gone wrong. Snape unknowingly drags Hermione into a situation she has little hope in surviving, and must deal with his guilt about the torment of such a promising mind.
1. Not How She Used To Be

Frustration. That's what it was. Well, no, not simply _frustration._ It wasn't that simple. It was more intense, a somewhat pulsing anger…

And, honestly, what more could anyone expect from him under the circumstances? Having just released his seventh year Potions class  
(on account of the budding migraine behind his eyes), he was, put most politely, rather…_cranky._

Mostly, it was Longbottom's fault. The boy simply made him want to pull his hair out and whip him with it. Quite honestly, Longbottom had thus far broken the record of busted-up cauldrons, the previous record having been set by a Hufflepuff quite a few years previous. Today's damaged goods had been rather impressive—four shattered flasks, a pound of soiled tenderized beetle eyes, while still managing to swathe a majority of the class in his foul-smelling orange goop of a potion.

And, of course to add to his increasing ferocity at the time, Potter, the Boy Who Insisted on Living, had felt the need to put in his two cents, claiming Longbottom was simply clumsy.

Merlin spare us. Clumsy? _Clumsy_ is the occasional slip in the mud, the sporadic trip down the stairs. Longbottom was a careless, lazy, accident prone _wreck_—a never ending stream of fumbling hands and inept musings. Clumsy. Snape nearly chuckled. That was an understatement if he ever heard one.

Reflecting, he realized there was barely a student in that bloody class who didn't force him to ask himself why he was a teacher. He could recall one, though.

An image of Hermione Granger, age eleven, an overly enthusiastic, thoroughly energetic, down right curious pint of a girl characterized by her bushy mane, buck teeth, and perpetually raised hand popped into his mind. Oh, how much she had changed. Maturity, experience, both did wonders for a person, Snape relented. They certainly did for Miss Granger. Another image flitted into his mind, forcefully pushing the preceding one out. A calm, strikingly intelligent young woman, with a long, slender form, light honey curls cascading around her shoulders, framing her big, long-lashed, toffee eyes…

That was, indeed, the newly matured Hermione Granger. A few years previous, had you told Snape that the previously annoying know-it-all of a student would have matured into a beautiful, reserved lady, he'd have recommended you for the St. Mungo's psych ward.

Apparently, one can only face near-death, mortal enemies, and the fatalities of friends so much in one life time before they give way to change. Somewhere along the line, she'd learned to give others a chance to answer a question, to not flaunt her intelligence but to instead use it discreetly. Maturity became her.

If only he could say the same for the rest of the soon-would-be graduates. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shifted heavily to his feet in search of any remaining headache remedy in his private stores.

Mornings. Horrid, slow, dreary mornings. Oh, how she hated the mornings. To even suggest rising early, one must be, in Hermione's blatant opinion, the spawn of evil itself. The uses of early awakenings were lost on her. She could not understand for the life of her why the school day could not start at, say, nine o'clock in the morning and end at four in the afternoon. Everyone would win.

Sighing, vehemently cursing early risers everywhere, Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed and ground the last traces of sleep from her eyes. Blindly grabbing at the innards of her wardrobe, she tugged various garments onto her, not caring in the slightest whether they matched or not. Shrugging into her school robes, she nearly stumbled down the curving staircase into the common room to meet the boys for breakfast, both of whom were there to greet her when she made her entrance.

Ron, only slightly more tolerable of mornings than Hermione, wore a completely blank expression, one that would cling to his face until they got both food and coffee into him. Harry, exceedingly more awake than either of them, adorned himself with a smile this morning. Their walk to the Great Hall was filled with his cheerful remarks and blithe observations, to Hermione's increasing irritation and Harry's obvious amusement.

Hermione was a great deal more agreeable when at last she sat clutching a steaming cup of dark coffee tightly within her hands. A tawny owl chose that moment to swoop down, carelessly drop the Daily Prophet in front of Hermione, and nibble off a corner of her toast before once again taking flight.

Hermione glanced at the headlines:

**Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimegeor Turns Fifty-Two**

**Dementor Attacks in Northern London**

**Lola Sweeney's Homemade Treacle Tart Recipe**

**Support Potter! Harry Potter Merchandise is Now For Sale: Hats, Mugs, T-shirts…**

"Any one we know die?" Ron asked casually.

"Not today. Though apparently Harry now has an entire line of collectors' items. I don't know, I might even sport a "Go, Harry Potter, Go" t-shirt to the next Quidditch match. What do you think, Ron? Join me with a nice "Harry Potter Admirer" cap?" Hermione asked with a straight face, reaching for a banana.

"Agreed. We'll even match them."

Harry snatched the paper from Hermione, determinedly ignoring his two giggly mates, and scanned it to confirm the news for himself. He wasn't surprised at the lack of scandals he found. The paper had been rather redundant lately. Not much changed from day to day. Though, he wasn't complaining. No news is good news, right?

Quickly the three finished eating and gathered their books. Grudgingly, reluctantly, the three slowly made their way down to the dungeons for early-morning Potions.


	2. A Wizard, a Witch, and a Snake

The scrape of metal stools against the stony dungeon floor made Professor Snape's head pound. He was suffering a constant headache as of late, and he knew enough to attribute it to the muddling batch of dunderheaded 7th years before him.

He stood to drawl his greeting, which was really a series of poorly masked insults, but as he positioned himself at full height before them, he had a better idea. A flick of his ebony wand set the lone piece of chalk by the blackboard scribbling out instructions faster than he could've spoken them. When the chalk dropped back into the tray, he spun to face his unfortunate audience and spoke only a word.

"Begin."

-BREAK-

Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched with bated breath as the Bat of the Dungeons returned behind his desk, his robes swirling around his ankles characteristically. They were awaiting the tongue-lashing they were treated to at the start of every class.

Ron's spirits soared when a few moments passed without the Bat uttering a word. "That's it?" he exclaimed, clapping Harry on the back and rummaging within his backpack. "Must be in a good mood today."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "That's why none of your relationships work out, Ron. You think silence is a good sign."

Harry guffawed loudly enough for the Professor to raise a brow at them while Ron's cheeks colored to match his hair.

"I'll be happy to more thoroughly explain these instructions in detention, Potter, if they are not clear to you now," drawled Snape, his eyes going back to the parchment he was scrutinizing with red ink.

Harry shook his head, controlled his laughter, and went to gather the prescribed ingredients. His companions followed suit. The classroom was silent save for the hum of simmering cauldrons. When only a few moments remained in the class period, Snape roved through the rows. His mood lightened considerably when he was met by cauldrons filled with cerulean broth and the scent of vanilla pervading the air. That is, except for—

"Longbottom," Snape breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose simply so that his hands were too busy to wring the boy's neck. "You _do_ know what the color blue looks like, am I correct?"

Neville sunk low in his stool beside Hermione, and nodded. Hermione burned with indignation. Poor Neville—Potions simply wasn't his forte.

"So you do know that what you've produced is quite far from the color blue? As a matter of fact, it's possibly as far from the color blue as you are from being intelligent."

The Slytherins in the room whooped delightedly; this was like sport to them. Snape, to his credit, kept his face smooth like he hadn't heard them. Neville continued to stir his pot of murky brown poison for lack of other options.

"Five points from Gryffindor, for your classmate's irreversible foolishness," Snape breathed, as if this was a chore for him.

Perhaps the coffee she'd drunk that morning was a little stronger than normal, or perhaps her course load was finally wearing on her nerves. Whatever the reason, Hermione didn't realize she'd stood until she heard the clatter of her upset stool against stone.

Snape turned towards the commotion and cocked an eyebrow. What an unexpected turn of events. "Something to add, Miss Granger?"

Hermione glanced around and shrugged to herself. Hey, she'd come this far, right? "Leave him alone," she spat.

Snape folded his arms defiantly in front of his chest as Neville tugged on Hermione's robes fruitlessly. "Why, I'm sorry Miss Granger, I wasn't aware you'd been granted a teaching license! Because that is the only thing that would give you any say in this matter."

Hermione mimicked him, and crossed her arms tightly. Matching his tone, she murmured, "Perhaps I'll try to acquire one, then. Can't be that hard to come by. They gave you one, after all."

The room, which had been full of excited whispers, presently hushed in awe. Snape's expression told her she'd stepped in it deeply, all right, but seven years of the same garbage made it very difficult for her to care.

He leaned in towards her, his face dangerously blank, and spoke slowly. "One of the perks of being a teacher, Miss Granger, is the joy of assigning detention. And I daresay, you've just earned yourself a week's worth."

Hermione tried to be chastised, or even angry, but the adrenaline rush still buzzed in her veins. She gathered her things when he dismissed the class and traipsed out behind Harry and Ron, both of whom couldn't contain their admiration.

"I mean, we've always loved you, Hermione, but that? That was bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, punching the air.

"I've never felt closer to you," Harry muttered, still slightly in awe.

Hermione was quite sure she'd regret her actions when she actually had to report to detention, but for the moment, she reveled in their praise.

-BREAK-

Seven o'clock came around much too quickly for Hermione's liking. Before she knew it, she was packing away her homework and climbing through the portal to the tune of the boys' sympathies.

The trip to the dungeons was frigid and her trepidation grew with each step. It wasn't often that Hermione Granger received detention; she wasn't sure how to go about this. She knocked on the door to his office and entered as his grunt of a greeting.

Snape sat in a stiff wooden chair, bent over a pile of papers that wobbled precariously. At the sound of her footsteps, he sighed heavily and gratefully pushed the papers away.

"I swear," he murmured, "the writing gets worse as they get older."

Coming to the conclusion that he was speaking more to himself than he was to her, she kept silent and deposited her bag into a corner. "What'll you have me do tonight, Professor?"

He turned and considered her as she faced him, awaiting punishment. "You have two options, Miss Granger," he murmured, "but tell anyone about this special treatment and it'll never happen again."

She cocked an eyebrow but nodded, inviting him to continue.

"You can choose to spend this week scouring cauldrons from 4 pm when classes end to 6 pm when supper starts, or you can assist me in restocking the Hospital Wing's medicinal stores, the disadvantage being that I'd require your assistance from 4pm until curfew. We'll break for dinner, but otherwise, your attention is mine."

Hermione nearly laughed. She could scrub dingy pots, or actually spend the time testing her mind. "The latter, most definitely," she muttered. "I appreciate the option, and I'll keep it to myself."

He nodded, and retrieved his outdoor cloak. He glanced at her, clothed in merely her school robes, and produced a second cloak, which he tossed her way. "Tonight will be spent gathering supplies in the Forbidden Forest, then; there isn't enough time until curfew to brew, anyway."

She nodded again and shrugged on his cloak. It smelled of spices and, curiously, sawdust and very nearly drowned her, but it sufficed.

The trip to the forest was filled by Snape's explanations of the ingredients they were hunting. Hermione catalogued each item described and was determined to prove her competency by not forgetting a thing. Snape saw, and appreciated, this determination; it would come in handy.

The forest grew denser and denser every few minutes or so and several miles in, Snape pushed Hermione to walk in front of him. "The wards protecting the castle end right around here, and I'll not be responsible for any magical mishap. Stay where I can see you."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his assumptions that she was as careless as many of the other 7th years, and fought the urge to compare him to her father. Instead, she nodded, and set to work collecting wild flowers, weeds, insects, small creatures, etc.

Perhaps a half hour passed before they both grew weary of such tedious work. The basket Snape had taken was laden with more ingredients than he expected to find, and he was just finishing patting himself on the back when his left forearm seared with pain.

He halted and, sensing the change, she turned to face him. She caught a glimpse of the dark mark she'd only heard rumor of; it writhed on his arm before he shook down the sleeve of the cloak, and Hermione diverted her gaze to his face, unsure of how to proceed.

Snape cursed under his breath. He now had thirty seconds, and counting, to Disapparate or there would be hell to pay with the Dark Lord. Seeing Granger back to the castle would be impossible. Curse the timing of these meetings.

He muttered something to the affect of, "Bugger off," before taking a calming breath and facing his student. "It is very important for you to do two things now, Miss Granger," he said, as though he faced situations like this daily. "You must forget what you've seen, and return to the castle as quickly as possible. Keep your wits about you in the forest, and wake Hagrid to take you the rest of the way once you reach his hut. Do you understand?"

Hermione withdrew her wand, and that was confirmation enough for him. He spun on the spot and his world swooped and then shifted, but at the last second, his foot caught on something dense, something heavy…must've been a boulder.

He landed on gravel and, though disoriented, managed to remain upright. The circle of Death Eaters had already formed by the time he'd arrived; he was last, as always.

The Dark Lord spun in the center of the circle at the sound of his arrival. "Ah, Severus," he hissed, his translucent lips spreading in a gruesome grin, "how nice of you to join us."

Snape bowed deeply, nearly kissing the ground, his hatred for the man locked in a reserve deep within his mind. "My Lord," he whispered.

When he straightened, he became aware of strange looks being shot his way. The Dark Lord himself approached and peered around Snape's shoulder. "What is this, Severus?" the Dark Lord hooted. "You've brought us a treat?"

Snape, thinking the man had finally lost it, furrowed his brow beneath his mask and glanced over his shoulder. He was met by a pair of horrified chocolate eyes.

Behind Snape, the Dark Lord cackled.

"I do love a Mudblood for dessert."


	3. Close Your Eyes

**Author's Note: Now, these next few chapters will be rough for those who don't like that sort of thing! Sorry! And to those of you who review, bless you.  
**

Snape's world was precariously close to crumbling beneath his feet as he peered into the petrified face of Hermione Granger. Jeers and catcalls sounded around them, but she seemed wholly unwilling to take her eyes off of him.

"I'm so sorry," she breathed, clutching her wand as if to snap it despite knowing it wouldn't do her much good. "You're foot, it caught my leg, I couldn't get away…oh, Merlin—"

Snape gripped her shoulder as tightly as he dared while fighting the unease churning in his stomach. The gesture was meant to both comfort her and satisfy his "brothers" but at the moment, he could do nothing more than curse his carelessness.

He wanted to apologize for dragging her where she never should have been. He wanted to implore her to run. He wanted so very, _very_ much to warn her of the torturous night that was bound to ensue at the hands of those snickering beside him. He wanted to do a lot of things. What he _had_ to do only fueled the roiling in his gut.

He pulled her close and growled ferociously, to the delight of those nearest him. He tightened his grip when he felt her stiffen, and when he was close enough to her ear, he whispered, "I'm sorry—I'll do my best to keep you alive."

Snape pulled away to gauge her reaction; the tears in her eyes were as good as a nod, and he turned to once again face the Dark Lord.

"Well, Severus?" the Dark Lord breathed.

Snape squeezed Hermione's arm and could feel the goosebumps that had erupted at the sight of Lord Voldemort. "I do apologize, my Lord. I was in the middle of hosting a detention with Miss Granger when I received your summons and, for lack of another option, I took my work with me."

The Dark Lord shooed away his apology and took the girl in at length. "Not to worry, my loyal servant," he hissed, "I'm sure we can find…_some_ use for her."

Snape heard Hermione's breath hitch in her throat as the enthusiasm around them swelled at the dark wizard's words. Her breathing returned in shallow huffs as the man in question reached a white, withering hand towards her. Snape took a deep breath, and shoved Hermione into the pack of wolves.

She stumbled into the circle, and then tripped on Lucius Malfoy's outstretched foot. The ring of Death Eaters erupted into laughter as the girl pulled herself to rights. She faced Snape, her eyes begging him for guidance. And he did the only thing he could think to do.

_Legilimens._

-BREAK-

Hermione was quite sure her lungs had been encased in stone. She'd known the second Snape Disapparated that she was in trouble.

She just didn't know how much.

She refused to look at anything but Snape, but her peripheral vision caught every eye in the circle gaping at her. That included the eyes of the most feared man in the Wizarding World.

Hermione had envisioned the final battle that was surely coming a million times in her head. Somehow in the vision, she never came face to face with the man himself. She always Harry dealing with him on his own. Being face to face with the man who'd taken the lives of so many was the most horrifying thing she'd faced.

So far.

Her mind, and her survival mode, kicked into overdrive at Snape's pronouncement. She truthfully didn't know what lay before her, only that it would be bad. She gathered every ounce of focus, of intellect, she possessed because she knew nothing but her all would give her any hope of surviving.

She heard words exchanged but they were fuzzy in her head. Perhaps not paying the strictest attention was unwise, but at that moment, she chose to put her all of her trust into Snape, a man she still wasn't wholly sure was on her side. That trust waivered for a moment when she felt his spindly fingers shove against the small of her back. She was sent stumbling into a circle comprised of dark wizards, and her knees met the ground hard when one of those wizards stuck his foot in her path.

Hermione righted herself and dusted off her clothing. She felt Voldemort closing in on her and knowing her options were slim, she turned her eyes back on her Potions professor, willing him to give her a small sign, a clue—_anything._

She saw his obsidian eyes blacken further with concern, with secrecy, with thought. Then she saw them cloud slightly and she became vaguely aware of a nagging force in her mind, a breach of wards that were clearly not masterfully built.

_Of course,_ she thought hastily, _he was trying to break into her mind._

Harry had briefed her about the sensation, and she loosened the wards; she let him have free reign of her mind. She thought quickly of a way to convey her message through images, and settled on a memory of a sign in a coffee shop window that read, "Help Wanted, Apply Within."

She watched his eyes crease as he read, and formulated a response to her. She felt Voldemort's murderous fingers raking through her hair, and it took all the determination she possessed to kill the scream that wanted to rip through her throat.

-BREAK-

"Help Wanted, Apply Within."

His heart tugged unexpectedly as her memory opened for him, and he was exceedingly appreciative at her ingenious idea for communicating. He prodded her mind lightly, and he knew she'd taken the hint when he felt the tentative tap of her mind within his. Snape let his wards down entirely, which was a whole different sort of danger, but the Dark Lord seemed preoccupied for the time being by the girl's silk, honey curls.

He tugged her mind deeper within his, and presented her with a calm meadow, trying to portray safety. She understood; he nearly felt her mind nodding along with him.

He followed her back into the open well that was her memory, and was presented with a question mark. She was asking him what was to come.

It was with regret this time that he led her cautious explorations back into his mind. He searched in the boarded up recesses of his memory and finally settled upon the sight of the first girl he'd been forced to violate. She'd turned into the first of many.

Hermione was burdened with the image of Snape, a young man at the time, forcing himself upon a girl who might've been eighteen, but even that could've been optimistic. The girl bled and she cried and her screams burned Snape like hot coals, but he saw the memory through to the end because he wanted Hermione every bit aware of what she might be subjected to.

He felt her mind shiver—it might've cried out, if it could have—before retreating.

-BREAK-

Hermione felt a chill run down her spine so severely, she could've sworn someone dropped an ice cube down her shirt. The screams of the poor girl Snape had attacked rang in her ears and she was quite sure that the memory was any woman's absolute hell.

She tried desperately not to acknowledge the fact that Snape bestowed that memory upon her in an attempt to warn her of the night's proceedings.

Hermione felt Snape's mind taste the horror that saturated hers, and she concentrated on closing the flood gates. This wasn't his fault and he felt guilty enough as it was; she didn't need to add to his anxiety by panicking. Hermione didn't know Snape's position in the war, not entirely. It was clear, thus far, that he was some sort of double agent, and her actions tonight could either make or break his vital role. She swallowed her fear and stood up straighter.

They all had a part in the war. She just had to take this one for the team.

Still, that was easier said than done. She'd never smelled death, but she was fairly certain the Dark Lord reeked of it and she fought to keep her dinner down. She almost lost it, until finally he removed his hands from her hair and stepped back to look her over.

"For a Mudblood," he breathed in a whisper that sounded like a shout, "you're ravishing. It's no wonder Potter keeps you around."

That elicited a chuckle from the encircling Death Eaters. Hermione wrestled the blush that rouged her cheeks.

She took a step back, startled, as Voldemort raised his wand, but he'd finished his spell before she'd raised her wand. With a flash of green light, her robes were shredded to bits. Her sweater was slit up the middle and removed from her torso, and her skirt fell to her ankles. Her arms shot up to cover her exposed flesh when she realized what he'd done. She was left shivering in a matching maroon bra and panties.

"How very…_Gryffindor_," the wizard hissed, his voice rising above the catcalls from his followers. He faced them now, and held his arms wide. "Who's first?"

Though it'd been nearly five years since they'd spoken in Flourish & Blotts, Hermione recognized him as soon as his long blonde hair was released from his mask. Her stomach gnawed at her, telling her to run, and run fast, but her legs were noncompliant.

"Ah, Lucius," Voldemort sighed, "we can always count on you."

Malfoy, in response, bowed to his Master and shed his cloak. His pants were already unzipped. Hermione locked eyes with Snape as her heart hammered faster than she thought possible. Snape characteristically wore a blank mask, but through _Legilimens_, he tried to tell her it'd be over quickly.

Hermione nodded lightly, almost imperceptibly, and closed her eyes as Malfoy reached her. He traced a pattern across her stomach as he said his words.

"Scream all you like."

She did.


	4. The Road to Peace is Surely Unpaved

**Author's Note: Thanks again for my lovely reviews! Keep them up, they keep me motivated to update more quickly. Another reminder-this chapter is difficult, I didn't enjoy writing it, nor will I enjoy the next one, so if you have a problem with violence, I highly suggest you skip this one.**

Everything hurt. The current Death Eater—number five, or maybe six—zipped his fly and slapped her panty-laden ass in thanks for showing him a good time. With each passing second, she fought the urge to lash out physically because she knew it would only result in death, be that hers or otherwise. Instead, her shame turned her face to the ground and she let her tears soak the soil.

Hermione took advantage of this reprieve between attacks to assess the damage. Bruises were already forming on nearly every inch of skin she could see, and she could only imagine what her face would look like, for it was that which received the brunt of the abuse. Her left side ached with each move she made and she concluded that at least one rib must have snapped. Though her thighs protested adamantly, she swallowed her pain and pulled herself into a sitting position. Her eyes roved the bloodied ground beneath her.

Malfoy laughed when she bled. He took his time with her. He explored her, as she never had been before, and it was with him she fought her hardest—it was also with him that she learned fighting was futile. Her anxiety was at its peak when he finally shoved her underwear aside roughly. He felt her, brutally, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out—it didn't help. He took only a moment to express his disappointment that she wasn't enjoying herself as much as he was before entering her. He broke her womanhood and as the blood that confirmed the loss of her virginity trickled down her thighs, his laughter pierced her ears.

In that moment, she felt murderous.

"Next?" the Dark Lord presently spoke before her.

Hermione instantly cringed and her chest tightened painfully. She took a quick count; five (maybe six) had taken their turns with her, which still left a good fifteen wizards standing idly by. Her head pounded and her breathing slowed. No more. She couldn't take one more, let alone fifteen.

She glanced up to take one last look at the starry night sky before she spoke. "No."

Jeering, foolish men fell silent around her and the dark wizard in the center of circle turned to face her. "Excuse me?" he hissed.

Hermione dared not glance at Snape, but his mind broke through poorly structured wards and screamed the memory of a corpse who looked about her age. His message was clear: she was begging for death.

_That's the idea_, came her terse reply.

She rolled on to her heels and found that standing was proving exceedingly difficult. Every muscle screamed, every joint and bone ached. Swallowing hard, she staggered upright and stood as proudly as her broken body allowed her.

"Kill me."

She'd intended to say it clearly, confidently. To go out with a bang. What left her mouth was a breathy whisper and her lungs ached with the effort. She wondered, vaguely, if any lasting damage had been done to her respiratory system and then dismissed the thought because, really, it didn't matter at this point.

As the Dark Lord walked toward her, wand in hand but not yet raised, she rustled up the remnants of her courage and matched his pace. They met in the middle and he appraised her now.

"I'd say that I admire your courage, but I can't admire anything about a Mudblood," he hissed. His followers cheered as he leaned in close. He raised his wand now, and muttered, "I promise, this will hurt."

Hermione actually grinned. "You think you can still hurt me?" Presently, she laughed. "If I'm the one asking for it, have you really won after all?"

His expression didn't change but his eyes flashed red. She saw his lips move, and she closed her eyes so she didn't have to see the flash.

"_Crucio_."

Her body ignited, her very bones burnt to crisps and yet even as she screamed, confusion clouded her head. She peered through heavy lids as the pain slowly dissipated.

He swooped down to where she lay crumpled on the ground and brushed several askew tendrils away from her face. The gesture could've been tender, it might've been, but his fingers nearly scraped away her flesh. She jerked away, but he caught her arm.

"Why not?" she whispered, but he knew what she was asking.

"My servants," he murmured slowly, softly, like a harsh lullaby, "they've been so faithful to me these past few weeks. They deserve a nice, warm body beneath them, not one chilled by the kiss of death."

She shuddered involuntarily. Fifteen more…Merlin, no.

Voldemort chuckled and bent close. "Ask me again when they're through, and I'll be more than happy to oblige your request."

Hermione bit her lip and glowered at him as he rose to his feet and once again faced his servants.

"Who's next?" he hissed, and several Death Eaters stepped forward. His eyes roved over each in turn, but he dismissed all of them. "No, no…my servants, I fear we've all been inconsiderate. Here stands Severus, thoughtful enough to provide us with such entertainment, and yet he hasn't even had a turn yet."

Hermione gasped from where she lay on the ground. She and Voldemort turned their heads to face Snape at the exact same moment, though her face shone with horror and his, excitement.

"Severus…batter up."

-BREAK-

Beneath his robes, Snape clutched his stomach to keep from vomiting as Lucius Malfoy stole the virtue of the poor girl pinned beneath him. Merlin sought to punish Snape, it seemed, because for the duration of the attack, her bloodied, agonized face was turned to him and he couldn't bring himself to look away.

Her screams cut through him like spears, and he gritted his teeth to keep his blank mask in place. His mind, almost without his permission, sought hers and he tasted the panic, the pain, which threatened to suffocate her.

No cause was worth this.

And so a half hour passed. Then a full hour. Then another quarter; did these men never rest? Snape watched number six, whom he identified as Dolohov, roll off the girl and slap her behind with a laugh. He watched her cheeks rouge and her head bow low and he wished to Merlin that the fate of the Wizarding World didn't rely on his double agent status for he was so precariously close to blowing it.

Snape saw Hermione gulp audibly as she sat upright and realized how many more attacks she'd be forced through. Then he watched as she grit her teeth, determination setting her jaw, and he knew exactly what she was about to do before she said it.

"No."

His mind screamed at her, _cursed_ at her, but she denied him. Guilt shortened his breath as his Master raised his wand and the girl clamped her eyes shut.

Relief flooded his veins when he heard the Cruciatus curse called out, but it turned bittersweet when her screams cut his ears again. He concentrated on righting his now irregular heartbeat and calming his breathing until he was jarred back to reality by the sound of his own name.

"Severus…batter up."

He felt the girl's astonishment melt to dread and he bit his tongue hard. He prepared himself for the best bit of acting he was sure he'd ever have to do. "Much obliged, my Lord, but I didn't bring her for myself."

The Dark Lord swept over to him and clapped in on the shoulder; Snape was sure the man could feel his clammy skin. "Not to worry, Severus, that is precisely the reason you deserve to have her!"

Snape's eyes shot back to Hermione and he watched her crabwalk away near the far line of Death Eaters, and shook his head. "With all due thanks, my Lord, the girl is my student. She's sniveling Potter's best mate and while it's easy for my brothers to think of her as nothing more than a young pair of legs, I can't get her nagging Mudblood voice from ringing in my ears. She…does nothing for me."

The Dark Lord's grin tugged slowly from his face. "Are we going to have a problem, Severus?"

_This was it,_ Snape thought. He was finally done living a damned double life. That was all about to end and while it could very well mean his death, he was more than willing to take his chances. He clutched his wand and opened his mouth when a nagging in his mind halted him.

It was the memory of a simple printed phrase in a book. _'It's okay'._

Snape's eyes whipped towards Hermione and though he knew he was breaking his own most important rule, he opened his mind despite the Dark Lord's proximity. He thought of Potter in those damned Occlumency lessons, his screech of "No!" loud enough to wake Hogsmeade.

Hermione shook her head perceptibly this time. She played him recap of the Quidditch World Cup she'd attended with the Weasley clan and Harry which was the largest Wizarding event she'd ever attended, and then a photograph of herself. Her message was clear; he had an entire world his role in the war could protect, and he shan't throw it away to preserve the virtue of one girl. He nearly rolled his eyes—she was preaching to the choir. He knew she was right, but every muscle in his body protested. Her bravery was sickening.

So very Gryffindor, indeed.

He shrugged off his cloak and took tentative steps toward her, masking his face with controlled distaste.

"I'm sure she'll prove good for you, Severus. Just give her a go," the Dark Lord called and the rest cheered him on.

Snape reached to Hermione and rather unceremoniously fell to his knees. He watched her strive to appear calm visibly, and was perfectly aware that her anxiety was bubbling just beneath her flesh. He moved slowly though as not to startle her, and knew exactly how ridiculous that was considering what he had to do next.

He tucked a few stray curls behind her ears and didn't care how suspicious he looked. "I'll be as gentle, and as quick, as I can."

She opened her mouth but proved incapable of speech so she settled for nodding. As her Potions professor unzipped his fly, Hermione did her very best to block out the rest of the world.


	5. Broken

**Author's Note: Still kind of rough, but it IS coming to an end! Please, please, _please_ review and thank you to those who have been!**

True to his word, he was gentler than the rest.

Hermione strived to keep her eyes shut but it was like watching a car wreck; she couldn't look away, even though she was in the vehicle aflame.

Her thighs burned more than she could ever imagine and she had no illusions of being able to walk immediately after this. Her lower belly was quite literally set ablaze each move he made. She tried not to blame him, tried not to kick him furiously, for it was her choice, after all. Nevertheless, her skin crawled with each passing second and nausea bubbled in her stomach.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes once more.

-BREAK-

Hidden behind a curtain of lank black hair, Snape wasn't even attempting to shield his regret. Every move was cautious and perfunctory. He got right down to business, unlike his brothers who all opted for the scenic route. Each time she gasped in pain, his eyes flew to hers to gauge how severe it was.

"Where does it hurt?" he muttered under his breath, his head bent close to hers under the pretense of kissing.

She hacked out a humorless, breathy laugh. "Everywhere," she gasped. "You can't avoid it."

He furrowed his brow and removed his wand from his sleeve. Carefully, discretely, he roved it over the body parts that he wasn't currently occupying. He detected several broken ribs, a chipped collar bone, a dislocated shoulder, and what would turn into two particular nasty black eyes. Bruises already covered every inch of her face.

Ye, Gods, they did a number on her.

Each time he bent close, her heart hammered as if to reach him. He avoided bending low. He bit his cheek and hated himself. Of all the despicable things he'd had to do over the course of his service, this nearly choked him. Every time she looked at him, his mind clouded with the face of an eleven year old with such a ferocious propensity for knowledge. She was innocent, and he was breaking her.

He rolled off of her, finally, and put himself to rights. It was with difficulty that he resisted helping the girl he'd just forced himself upon. He listened to her trying to control her heavy breathing and feared a fragment from a broken rib may have pierced her lung. He had to get her out of there.

He thought fast and leant close to her, bowing his head to zip his fly. "Faint," he said out of the corner of his mouth.

He couldn't see her face, but felt her body go still beside him. He straightened up and manipulated his face back into vacuity. The Dark Lord swept over to meet him halfway. "I think you rather wore her out, Severus," he hissed.

Snape leered, and glanced back toward her lifeless body. "Indeed, my Lord. Perhaps I should deposit her back at the school now, though. The old fool will have my wand if one of Potter's whores is harmed too severely."

This was risky and he knew it. The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes to slits. Before he could speak, however, the Gods saw fit to finally throw Snape a bone. A crack sounded and the circle of Death Eaters parted to allow a sniveling rat of a man with a silver hand to pass. Peter Pettigrew scuttled up to the hem of the Dark Lord's robes and pressed his dirty lips to them. The latter kicked, and the rat whimpered before backing away.

"My Lord," he simpered, his voice grating on Snape's last nerve, "I bear news, my Lord."

The Dark Lord glowered and glanced at his followers. "Disperse," he whispered, but it echoed, and they obeyed immediately. "Severus," he murmured, and glanced at the girl. "Dispose of the trash."

Snape's curiosity churned. He would send his followers away for nothing short of travesty. He brushed that away to more important concerns and withdrew his wand, levitating the girl towards him. He crafted distaste carefully across his face until the Dark Lord was gone in a charcoal plume.

It was then he took her in his arms.

"Miss Granger." He shook her lightly. She peeked through bruised eyelids and saw the coast was clear. "How do you feel?"

She opened her mouth to respond but was taken with a fit of coughs. The spatter of blood that came with it answered his question.

"Right," he whispered. "St. Mungo's it is."

They arrived in front of a gratefully empty waiting room in the ward. Snape rushed the front desk; the woman behind it jumped when she caught sight of Hermione.

"She was attacked," Snape explained in a composed voice that surprised him. "Multiple men. Her injuries are extensive; I fear she's punctured a lung."

To emphasize his words, it seemed, Hermione turned her head towards the floor and vomited red.

"Help," Snape whispered, and this time it wasn't as calm.

The poor woman nodded, pressed a button beneath her desk, and jumped up. As she did, a swarm of Healers swooped down upon them. Hermione was lifted brusquely from his arms and he watched her panicked eyes until they disappeared behind a door marked "Urgent".

A hand landed on his chest as he tried to march straight after her. His eyes found those of a harried Medi-witch. "Family only," she snapped as she, too, disappeared after Hermione.

Snape nodded, and backtracked. The receptionist led him to a waiting area where he could watch the door that hid Hermione from him. She told him to ask if he needed anything before she retreated to her post.

Snape let his pounding head fall into his hands. And he waited. For news, for a miracle, for a punishment.

He waited.


	6. The Want of a Purpose

**Author's Note: time to heal! Thanks to my lovely reviewers, you make me update faster! (hint hint)**

"Severus."

His voice twinkled like his eyes and Snape was left with no confusion as to who beckoned him. He felt Dumbledore deposit himself heavily into the chair beside him and glanced up to see that his mentor presently looked every minute of his 150 plus years.

Snape righted and composed himself, feeling peculiarly like he was preparing for Judgment Day.

"Firstly…was your cover blown?"

Snape bristled, but then calmed his breathing. Dumbledore had good intentions, there was no doubt about that, but his concern for the greater good sometimes twisted Snape the wrong way.

"No. I'm telling you now, Albus, I was absolutely ready to out myself to spare the girl. It was Miss Granger who…saw reason."

Dumbledore nodded deeply. "The entirety of the Wizarding World owes her a great deal."

Snape nodded at this. "And half of them are so busy calling her a Mudblood that she'll never get what she's owed."

Dumbledore glanced at the man by his side and held deep regrets that a man of thirty-eight could look so defeated. He held deep regrets, as well, that the majority of that defeat was Dumbledore's own doing.

"What _happened,_ Severus?" the old man implored.

Snape heaved a sigh and opened his mouth to launch a horrifying tale when a new voice halted him.

"I'd save it if I were you, Professor," said Kingsley, his baritone rich but friendly, "unless you want to repeat yourself."

Snape's head shot up and took the Auror in. He wore a smile, but it was a sad one, as though his job was finally taking its toll on his psyche. He was wearing his dark ministry robes and a matching cap that lay flat.

He was on official business.

Snape and Dumbledore both nodded their greetings. "I presume you're here to take the girl's statement, Kingsley?" Snape inquired.

Kingsley's smile fell all together now. "Indeed," he hummed. "Truly awful, that. I'm sorry to hear you were apart of it, Severus."

He meant it sincerely, and Snape waved it away. "Save your sympathies for the victim." He spoke more curtly than he intended, but the man's apology burned.

The door marked "Urgent" swung open now and the same Healer that pushed Snape away walked briskly toward them. "Are you here on behalf of Hermione Granger?"

They all nodded in unison and Snape and Dumbledore both jumped to their feet.

"She'll recover," the Healer began, and a wave of relief washed over the men before her. She turned to Snape now and said, "You were right about the punctured lung. A fragment dislodged from a broken rib. She'll have difficulty breathing for perhaps a month; keep her away from sport. Other than that, the bones healed rather nicely. She's got a fair bit of bruising which only time can heal. I do, however, recommend that she see a therapist."

Dumbledore and Kingsley both nodded while Snape's heart sunk. "How is she doing? Mentally, I mean."

The Healer sighed. "Now that's a loaded question." She led them back towards the chairs they'd just vacated and took a seat opposite them. "She seemed quite all right at first…or perhaps numb would be a more apt description. She was calm until we performed the rape kit, which is a crude and highly invasive Muggle procedure. We've tried in the past to think of better ways to collect evidence but there doesn't seem to be any so, alas, we're stuck being primitive."

Snape nodded and swallowed hard around the lump forming in his throat.

"She said nothing, mind you, but…you could see it. Her eyes." The Healer shook her head. "Anyway, you can see her now, if you'd like." She turned towards Kingsley now. "I'll have a full medical evaluation ready for your report when you're through with her."

Kingsley nodded his thanks and the three men were led to room 315. Snape let his elders enter first before biting his cheek and following.

Hermione's face was as pale as the sheets she lay on, save for the bruises that colored half of her purple. A Healer adjusted something that looked like a Muggle IV—Snape had seen something like it before—and left them alone. The door clicked behind her with a feeling of finality.

Hermione was weak, they could see that immediately. Snape glanced at the clock on the wall and saw it was nearly 7 AM. They _should_ be letting her rest. Instead, they gathered in chairs around her.

When she saw she had company, the corners of her mouth turned up in an attempted smile and she made to sit upright.

"Please, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, his voice as light and as airy as though he was discussing the weather, "don't get up on our account."

She smiled gratefully and slid back down beneath the sheets. Everywhere he looked, Snape saw bruises. He swallowed again and unintentionally met her eye. She nodded slightly, as if to say he needn't blame himself. He nearly laughed; he didn't merely blame himself.

He hated himself.

Kingsley sat in the chair nearest the girl and brushed her forearm. "Hello, Hermione," he said fondly. Snape had forgotten they'd gotten closer due to the Order.

"How are you, Kingsley? It's been a while," she breathed.

"I've been fine, my girl. I know you can't say the same," he said lightly. At this, she looked away and fidgeted. "Hermione, I truly hate to do this to you, but I've been sent to take a statement from both you and your Potions professor. Do you think you're up to answering a few questions?"

Hermione swung back to face him and this time, she scooted up in her bed. "You mean, tell you what happened?" It was apparent that she strived to keep the dread from her voice but it snuck through, regardless.

Kingsley nodded. "If you'd prefer to hold off, Hermione, I'd be happy to return."

Hermione bit her lip but shook her head. "No, no," she whispered, "it's okay."

Snape shifted uncomfortably and it came to his attention that she sat facing all men. If he was in her position, a room filled with men would be the last place he'd want to be.

"If I might beg your indulgence," he interrupted. The two men followed him to the door and just beyond it. "Miss Granger may feel more comfortable in the presence of a woman," he explained, his eyes on Dumbledore.

The Head Master nodded. "Oh, of course, of course. Minerva is awaiting word, I'll fetch," and he was off with a spin.

While they waited, Kingsley clapped Snape on the shoulder. "You all right, Severus?"

Snape glanced at the Auror and shrugged. "I've certainly done worse things for the war effort." He didn't add that this was the worst he ever felt after.

Kingsley simply nodded, nonplussed. A nearby _crack_ indicated Dumbledore's return. This time, Minerva McGonagall scurried in his wake, a witch's hat wobbling precariously atop her head. On their back into Miss Granger's room, McGonagall squeezed Snape's hand but said nothing, for which he was grateful.

At the sight of Gryffindor's Head of House, Snape saw relief flood Hermione's frail body. "Professor," she breathed, and sat up a little straighter.

McGonagall went to sit on the opposite side of the bed and clutched her student's hand. "Miss Granger," she murmured, more motherly than any of the men had ever heard, "I'm so sorry."

Hermione nodded slightly in thanks, and turned back to Kingsley for the inevitable question, and wasn't kept waiting long.

"So, Hermione…what happened?"

-BREAK-

Hermione swallowed hard to keep down the bile rising in her throat. Every move she made hurt. Her thighs burned, a constant reminder of the night she had. The Healers had thrown terms around so carelessly, no one bothering to explain anything more than the fact that she'd be all right, eventually.

When the room was full, she craved solitude. When it was empty, she yearned for human contact. Her mind buzzed a mile a minute, she could not shut it up so to keep from thinking of difficult things, she did Arithmancy in her head and when that failed, she deciphered fabricated Ancient Runes but still, visions of snakes entangling themselves in her hair left her gasping for air.

This was exhausting.

Presently, she was being asked to recall what happened last night. She glanced at Snape, but he was busy staring at the bruises staining her arm. She sighed. "I guess it began in the Forbidden Forest."

Kingsley nodded. "And what were you doing there?"

"Serving detention with Professor Snape. I deserved it," she added when McGonagall sent Snape a glare worthy of the Dark Lord, "I'd mouthed off in class earlier. Professor Snape offered to let me serve my detentions by helping him restock the Hospital Wing's stores, and we were starting by gathering ingredients in the forest."

Kingsley nodded. "So how is it you were suddenly thrust into a Death Eater meeting?"

Snape tensed visibly, but Hermione plowed on. "Well…." She wasn't sure how to begin. "I didn't know much of Professor Snape's role in the war; I knew he must've been some sort of double agent, but I didn't know specifics until last night, when his Dark Mark burned. He told me to forget what I saw and to get back to the castle safely. I turned to go and felt him Disapparate but at the last second, his foot caught my leg and I…I was taken with him."

McGonagall squeezed her hand lightly. It was extremely comforting to have another woman there.

Kingsley nodded, inviting her to continue. Hermione shrugged. "My presence was discovered rather quickly. Professor Snape promised to do his best to ensure my safety. I knew I had to play along if I wanted to live."

Kingsley looked at Snape now. "What was your game-plan, Severus? Did you have one?"

Snape sighed and looked at Hermione when he answered. "I went in blindly, we both did. I had to think fast, and I had two options: I could let them have their way with her, or let them kill her. I chose the one that spared her life."

His voice sounded so dead that Hermione felt the urge to reach out and comfort _him_ but she refrained.

Kingsley turned back to Hermione, who nodded. "Professor Snape and I communicated using Occlumency. I'm not very good at it and I'm sure it was very dangerous for him, but we were able to read each other by thinking of simple memories. He…warned me. He showed me what was to come." She looked at Snape now. "And he did the right thing."

She saw Snape's eyes narrow, but had a feeling it wasn't directed at her so much as a memory.

"In what sense?" Kingsley asked.

Hermione turned her gaze on him. "In the sense that outing himself for my sake would've been stupid. I'm just one person and besides being Harry's best friend, I'm not much of a contribution in this war. To throw his role away for my sake, even if it meant my life, would've been preposterous and would've damned the better part of the Wizarding World. I can't commend that."

McGonagall squeezed her hand again, this time praising her bravery, and Hermione returned the pressure. She glanced at Dumbledore and though his face twisted with regret, he never lost his twinkle.

Kingsley smiled warmly this time. "Very brave indeed," he said. "And then?"

Hermione glanced up. Her mouth slackened, her eyes drooped. "And then they took turns. Seven of them. Including Professor Snape."


	7. Sacrifice

**Author's Note: Again, thank you to those who review consistently, you have my everlasting gratitude. **

Gasps sounded around him at Miss Granger's pronouncement, and eyes flew to glare in his direction. Indeed, McGonagall jumped up, her chair clattering to the floor, her wand drawn and aimed.

Dumbledore, in contrast, stayed in his seat and shook his head sadly. Snape had the sneaking suspicion Dumbledore was wholly unsurprised at his participation.

Kingsley stood and made himself a physical barrier between Snape and the girl, as if he was still a danger to him.

"You _raped_ her?" Kingsley accused, but he was weary, as though he anticipated Snape would attempt to escape.

He needn't have worried. Snape, too, stood but backed away as far as he could until his back hit the white washed wall behind him. He held up his hands to say he held no threat before admitting, "Yes, I did."

As cries of outrage sounded around him, Snape became aware of Miss Granger's face peering out from behind Kingsley. She was white as a sheet, a very familiar panic pouring out to him. She stared at him with wide honey eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I thought they knew, I didn't…didn't mean to…WAIT!"

She screeched the last bit as McGonagall's wand cut the air, and Snape narrowly missed the stunner that was sent his way. "Everybody sit," Hermione called and when nobody obeyed, she tore the sheets away and slipped her bare feet onto chilly tile.

This brought McGonagall back to her senses, but Hermione ignored the woman's cry of, "Get back to bed this instant, Miss Granger."

Hermione bit back the tears that were brought about by the burning in her legs and she clutched the bed once for support, but didn't come to a full stop until she'd placed herself brazenly between her Potions professor and the Auror scrutinizing him. Snape caught the girl's arm as her legs threatened to give way, and hauled her upright. He kept a hand at her elbow, just in case.

_Blast that Gryffindor bravery_, he thought.

"Don't touch him," Hermione murmured. It was evident the walk over had taken much of her energy, but she held fast. "When he was commanded to have a go, I tapped into his mind, and I could hear him preparing to give it all up. I was the one who stopped him. I was the one who convinced him to listen to Voldemort. If you're going to charge one of us, charge me."

Snape marveled at the fact that she could stand to be near him, never mind stick _up_ for him, after what he'd done to her. It didn't go beyond his notice that this was the second time she'd saved his arse in a matter of hours. It wasn't only the Wizarding World who owed Hermione a great deal; it was he as well.

Kingsley held up his arms. "No one is getting charged, Hermione," he sighed. "Now will you please get back into that bed before you pass out?"

With her permission, Snape wrapped one arm gingerly around her waist. He felt one of hers clutching his shoulder for support, and he helped her back into bed with as little unnecessary movement as possible. She was very nearly panting by the time they were settled.

"You aren't supposed to be active for a few months yet, Miss Granger, not with that punctured lung," Snape scolded, his brow furrowed, but he couldn't muster up any real aggression.

Hermione shrugged good-naturedly. "I'll be sure to stay off the Quidditch pitch, then."

Snape fought the ridiculous laugh that threatened to bubble out of him and when he turned to seat himself, he saw Dumbledore doing the same. Hermione Granger had less business on a Quidditch pitch than Voldemort did writing greeting cards.

McGonagall still shot Snape nasty looks, but he accepted them graciously, because it didn't look like Kingsley was willing to pursue any form of punishment and getting off scot-free would be a nightmare.

Kingsley swallowed hard and shook his head. "Start from man number one, Hermione. Did you know who he was?"

Hermione set her jaw. "Lucius Malfoy. He volunteered."

McGonagall bit her cheek and shifted uncomfortably, but remained silent. Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles slid down his crooked nose as he shook his head, dismayed.

Kingsley jotted the name down, all business. "The second?"

Hermione put a hand to her head. Snape opened his mouth to object to any more questions until she'd had a chance to rest, but she spoke before he could. "I think Goyle senior was next, followed by Crabbe senior. That's three…then there was that executioner, oh what's his name…"

"Macnair," Snape supplied.

Hermione nodded in recognition. "And then someone called Nott, I've never met him. And then another, I don't know…"

"Dolohov."

Hermione nodded again before she spoke. "And last was Professor Snape." Her eyes clouded now, and she looked down, her cheeks rouging.

Kingsley didn't bother writing _that_ name down.

The next half hour was spent going through specifics, and it was painful for everyone, but no one more so than Snape. Every detail churned his stomach and by the time she'd reached his attack, he was nearly sent hurtling towards the nearest lavatory.

Kingsley turned toward Snape. "If this is difficult for you, feel free to stand outside."

Snape glanced at Hermione, whose face was pinched with exhaustion and trauma, and shook his head. _She_ was the one reliving the most excruciating night of her life. The least he could do was listen to the pain that he'd caused.

Kingsley shrugged and turned his attention back on Hermione. "Last one, my girl," he sighed apologetically.

She nodded almost mechanically. Snape didn't like how dead her face was beginning to look, not one bit. "Professor Snape was gentler than the rest," she said immediately, paying a debt she didn't owe him.

He resisted the urge to shake his head.

"The others, you know…took their time. Explored." A shudder ran through her body, but she seemed not to notice it. She looked at him now, studying him. "But you weren't like that. You were…perfunctory at best. It felt more like business actually, more like something you merely grit your teeth and bore."

Snape was grateful, at least, that she'd sensed his reluctance.

She shook her head and remembered she had an audience. "And then Voldemort was called away, and we were given our chance."

Dumbledore leaned in, intrigued, but merely glanced at Snape, who understood they'd have a conversation about that later.

Snape watched as Hermione's head hit her pillow; her eyelids fluttered despite her best efforts, and he let his aggravation swell. "I daresay we've kept Miss Granger awake far too long," he insisted, rising and willing the others to follow suit. Thankfully, they complied.

McGonagall engulfed the girl in a quality bear hug before leading the line out the door. Snape brought up the rear; he glanced back just before he turned the light switch, and saw her already fast asleep. He contemplated retrieving a bottle of dreamless sleep potion from his stores, but decided he didn't have any in stock and would loathe waking her.

He snapped the door shut at his heels and felt the Headmaster's arm around his shoulder. He leaned close, so as not to be overheard, and whispered, "You quite look like you're about to faint, my boy. Perhaps a nap in your lodgings wouldn't hurt when we return to the castle, hmm?"

Sleep tugged at Snape's eyelids, but he shook his head. "There are classes to be taught and papers to be graded. I did the violating, I don't get a break." He ignored the Headmaster's argumentative glare, but lowered his voice. "But first and foremost, we must have a discussion."

Dumbledore nodded. "I figured as much. My office it is, then," he sighed, and they spun on the spot.

-BREAK-

Dumbledore swirled his tall glass of brandy absentmindedly. Sure, it was just past eight in the morning, but brandy was never a poor decision, not after the night that was had. He glanced up at the pale, tortured man who was slumped towards him with his head in his hands.

"And you have no thoughts as to the reason behind Lord Voldemort's speedy departure?"

Snape peered at the man through the spaces between his fingers before settling his hands anxiously in his lap. "Wormtail's pronouncement was enough to send the Dark Lord running; we were not enlightened as to the contents of the message. It is peculiar, how quickly the atmosphere changed, but it isn't unlike the snake to keep things from us."

Any further thoughts on the topic vanished when the door to Dumbledore's office banged open. A mess of untidy black hair and a most peculiar scar sauntered in as if he owned the place. Weasley, his cheeks presently the color of his hair, ambled clumsily in after his hot-headed friend.

Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes. He would now call the ingrate 'Potter, The Boy Who Lived To Be Rude'.

Dumbledore, as always, glossed right over Potter's imperfections. "Harry, my boy," he exclaimed. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Harry shook his head at the offered bowl of Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans, though Ron snagged a few, and spoke. "We're sorry for bursting in, Professor. It's just that we haven't seen Hermione since she went to serve detention with—"

And it was at that moment that Harry's eyes landed on, in his opinion, the most loathsome Professor employed by Hogwarts. Harry Potter had never been a particularly sensible boy, so it came as no surprise when he tried unsuccessfully to launch himself straight at Snape.

"What've you done with her, you greasy coward?" he spat. The Weasley boy yanked him back and pinned him to the wall before he could do any one any harm, but he too looked murderous.

Dumbledore was on his feet in an instant, walking to stand between his Potions professor and his young prodigy. "Harry," he sighed heavily, "sit. There is much to be discussed, but not until you've calmed down."

Harry shook off Ron's grip and righted himself. He deposited himself in the chair furthest from Snape's, which left Ron with no choice but to occupy the middle, and waited for the Headmaster to speak.

It was a surprise, then, that it was Snape's mouth who opened. "Your friend was attacked."


	8. Whirlwind

**Author's Note: a huge thank you to those who have reviewed already! Please continue to do so! And those reading and not reviewing, I'd greatly appreciate your thoughts as well. **

Snape watched as Harry paled abruptly and whipped his head around. Ron's face, in contrast, seemed to be trying to match his hair.

"What do you mean?" Harry spoke in a whisper now, his voice deadly.

Snape turned to face the boy and hated how weak his voice sounded. "I was called to a Death Eater meeting in the middle of her detention. As I was Apparating, my foot caught hold of hers—she was dragged alongside me."

Ron pushed back in his chair, as if trying distancing himself would change what he was hearing. "She's—she's alive, right? I mean, she's okay?"

Snape folded his hands in his lap to keep them steady, but spoke calmly. "Yes, she'll be fine."

Harry rested his elbows on his knees and took Snape in. "What happened to her at the meeting?"

Snape swallowed hard. He had hoped to avoid that question. He glanced at the Headmaster who murmured, "Perhaps that is Miss Granger's story to tell, Harry."

Ron raked a hand through his hair and seemed to accept the Headmaster's answer, but Harry wasn't so compliant. He didn't take his eyes off his Potions professor when he asked, "Was she tortured?"

Ron whipped his head towards Harry, his eyes wide. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear this; he wasn't sure if he was ready.

Snape, paradoxically, narrowed his eyes to slits. "Last I heard, Potter, there was nothing wrong with your ears. So I think I'm correct in assuming you heard the Headmaster's answer."

Harry spoke again, his audacity stretching inconceivably. "Was she _raped_?"

This time, every eye in the room swung to meet his. Ron groaned at his friend's words; he leaned back in his chair and covered his ears. Dumbledore had only time to utter, "Harry…" warningly before the boy was on his feet, his wand aloft.

Harry's voice cut across the room, smooth as glass, deadly as sin. "How about you, then?" he murmured, his wand inches from Snape's face, his eyes growing dark. "Did you touch her? Huh? Did you have a go?"

Snape rose, too, and made himself entirely too vulnerable to an attack. He spoke softly and this time, he didn't care how weak he sounded. "Yes, Mr. Potter. I did."

And all hell broke loose.

At Snape's admission, Harry's wand emitted an array of red sparks seemingly of its own accord. Ron growled ferociously and made to charge at Snape, but fumbled when a chair got in his way. Unused magic leapt from his skin, itching to be freed through the wand stowed in his robes and left with no other option, it pulsed into energy and shot out from his body with the force of an explosion. Harry experienced a similar transition of power, but his wand was clutched in his hand; the result was an outpouring of magic he didn't know he possessed that shot from his wand's tip. Together, they managed to create something of a whirlwind of sheer power and in a matter of seconds, they'd all but turned the office upside down.

As his belongings clattered to the floor, and in some cases shattered on impact, the Headmaster sprung from behind his desk with an agility that surprised even him, and waved a wandless hand. Instantly, a barrier was drawn, a shield between the distraught young men and the man which fueled their anger, through which only he could pass. Then, he waited in silence for their outburst to die out, his slight smile refusing to leave his lips even as he watched a good hundred years' worth of fortune turn to dust.

Finally, the boys tired themselves out and two things happened at once. Ron hunched his shoulders and, after fighting what looked like a raging internal battle, erupted into sobs so violent they shook his whole body; it was actually a rather agonizing sight. In turn, Harry leaned over the back of the chair he had just occupied as if he might be sick, but his burning eyes never left the Potions professor.

Snape was quite sure the boy was visualizing all the ways he could kill him. And it was only after their fit that his conscience eased the tiniest bit. This, finally, was the reaction he deserved.

"If you're quite through, Mr. Potter," the Headmaster spoke when the sparks ceased to fly, "might we resume our seats?"

In the interest of safety, Dumbledore left the barrier up and pushed Snape into the chair behind his desk. He instead assumed the seat beside Ron, who sat now with his face in his hands, trying to ground the embarrassing tears from his eyes. Harry seemed perfectly contended to remain hunched and standing, his wand still drawn.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, with the curious air of someone considering a rather intriguing bit of news, "am I correct in assuming that you didn't come to that conclusion on your own?"

Harry finally let his eyes leave the satisfyingly grim face of Professor Snape. "Err…what?"

Dumbledore's mouth turned down in the corners, not at all appreciating the words he needed to say. "How did you know she was raped?"

Ron let out a painful cry at the word, and Harry cracked his knuckles harshly. "Oh," he muttered, "yeah…it was Malfoy, the little prick. I heard him talking over breakfast. He was going on about how his dad had 'bedded some whore' last night to Crabbe and Goyle. Kept saying how she'd been passed around and he didn't say it was at a meeting, but it was implied." His eyes shifted to the floor. "He didn't say her name until he was sure I was listening."

Ron lifted his head then, and spun in his chair to face Harry. "What?" he growled. "I didn't hear any of that—when…why didn't you say anything to me?"

Harry's face, and voice, softened at the sobbing puddle that was his friend. "Look at yourself, Ron," he said apologetically. "I'm a shade better at dealing with tragedy than you are…and I wanted to be sure."

Meanwhile, Snape's heart hammered against his ribcage. If Malfoy knew already, half the school would know by lunchtime. By the time Miss Granger was fit to return to classes, every damned person at Hogwarts would know what happened to her. What a bloody nightmare. He glanced at Dumbledore and it was evident that the old man shared his sentiments to the letter.

Harry sat, finally, and turned his whole body away from Snape. "Please, Professor," he implored of the Headmaster, "tell us what happened."

Dumbledore sighed, but spoke. "You have to understand two things, boys. Number one: Professor Snape's role is implausibly vital in this war. Having said that, let it be known he was ready to reveal himself as a spy for the Order the moment he saw that Miss Granger was in danger."

Harry balked. "If he was so willing, then why didn't he?"

Dumbledore held a hand up. "That brings me to number two. It was Miss Granger who implored him to reconsider."

Harry and Ron exchanged a look that quite clearly stated they were wondering whether age was finally getting to the man's head. "You're saying he was going to save her," Harry murmured, his brow furrowed, "but she asked him not to? Why on earth would anyone do that?"

"Because she's brave," Snape said, and Harry's eyes flew to him, enraged. "She realized that despite what might happen to her, my role in this war was too important to surrender. She acknowledged how many more lives were at stake. Please believe me when I say I took away nothing but intense displeasure from last night's proceedings."

It was Ron's turn to growl in outrage. "You hate her," he spat, clutching the arms of his chair. "You hate all of us, you always have! Maybe you wouldn't have volunteered to rape,"—he stuttered over the word—, "her, but don't pretend you cared enough to stop it."

Snape's blood boiled at the Weasley boy's words. He leapt from his chair and leaned over the desk as far as the barrier would allow. "Don't you dare," he growled. "Don't presume to tell me what I would and wouldn't do, Weasley, for you know nothing of my role in this war, nor of my true opinions."

Ron set his jaw and gritted his teeth, but said nothing. Snape sat and listened as Dumbledore briefed the boys on the rest of the gruesome details and they left with a note to excuse them from their classes for the day and the promise of being able to visit her soon.

Upon their departure, Dumbledore finally removed the barrier which allowed Snape freedom to roam the span of the room once again. "Perhaps we should prepare ourselves for a ferocious increase of gossip at the rumor mill for the time being," Dumbledore said gravely, returning to his seat.

Snape nodded, but he was only half-listening. If truth be told, he'd been consumed by only one train of thought since his interaction with Weasley. They boy had accused Snape of hating Miss Granger as if it were nothing but absolute fact. While it was true that he never exactly simpered over any member of the Golden Trio, he surely never hated them. Well, perhaps Potter…but certainly never Miss Granger.

If it was so easy for Weasley to use Snape's assumed hatred as an excuse for what he'd done, Snape couldn't help but wonder if Miss Granger had come to the same conclusion. It was undeniably true that she was infinitely more intelligent than the boy, but still, it wasn't hard for Snape to imagine her thinking he'd acted as he had out of dislike.

The only way to settle his mind, and his flustered conscience, was to promise himself that he'd put an end to _that_ notion the first chance he had.


	9. Misguided

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, I've been on vacation! I'll try to get another chapter out in the next few days, but then I'm afraid there will be another four-five day delay due to lack of internet. My apologies! But as always, thank you to my reviewers. **

St. Mungo's was abuzz with midday traffic when Snape returned that afternoon. He'd promised himself, and the Headmaster, that he'd give Miss Granger sufficient time to rest, but he'd finished with his classes by noon and found sitting idly by to be infuriatingly mind-numbing. He reasoned that he'd pop in to see how she was doing—after all, it was he who landed her there—and would simply wait if she was asleep.

Which she was. When the knock on her door went unanswered, Snape opened it cautiously and peered in to find her fast asleep in the very position they'd left her in. She must've been exhausted.

As quietly as wizardly possible, Snape retrieved the chair he'd occupied earlier and sat by the foot of her bed. From such a close proximity, he found himself studying a girl he wasn't sure he'd ever taken the time to look at. Freckles were sprinkled across the bridge of her nose, which was small, straight. Soft pink eyelids hid warm honey eyes, and her eyelashes just nearly grazed her cheeks. What Snape remembered to be a wild, bushy mane had softened into light, silky tendrils which were nothing but becoming. He wondered when this change came about. He wondered why he'd never really noticed.

Then he wondered why he cared so much.

She stirred before his mind got too carried away, and his body tensed. His plan had only gotten him to the hospital, not much further. What was he to say?

He awaited the inevitable opening of her eyes, but several moments passed and all she did was stir. Her arms jerked occasionally, her legs kicked lightly. Her head turned towards him and he saw her brow furrow, the sides of her mouth crease.

She wasn't waking. She was in the middle of a nightmare.

He urged his hands to reach out toward her, but his limbs were unresponsive, frozen. It wasn't until her flailing became violent and her mouth wrenched open in a dreadful scream that his body complied; he reached out to steady her shoulders.

His touch acted as fuel to the flame. Her hands reached up to claw at his, to wrench them away, but his strength outshone hers. He loosened his grip nonetheless so as not to stimulate her panic, and instead took her tightly clenched fist in both hands.

"Miss Granger," he said, and then shouted it when speaking proved insufficient. His voice was enough to cut through her internal horror and her eyes shot open, blood-shot and half-crazed.

"No," she groaned, and shrunk away from him until her mind adjusted to her surroundings.

He tried not to be hurt.

Slowly her breathing calmed and her muscles loosened. She let herself relax back into bed, but kept her eyes trained on him warily.

He swallowed his bruised ego and sat back in his chair, scooting it back just a bit further to give her a little breathing room. "I'm sorry I startled you, Miss Granger," he said rather formally. "It wasn't my intention."

She put a hand to her head and finally shifted her gaze and closed her eyes. He let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"No, no," she waved his apology away, "I'm sorry."

Snape furrowed his brow. "For what?"

She studied him for a second. "I don't really know, come to think of it," she said, a hint of laughter in her voice. "Freaking out, I guess. It wasn't directed at you."

He allowed his shoulders to relax, and willed his mind to do the same. "You had a nightmare."

She nodded, and sat up a little straighter in bed. She stared straight ahead but didn't seem to actually be seeing anything. "Usually I'm good at logically talking myself out of nightmares. This time…" She swallowed hard. "I didn't know I was sleeping until I woke up."

Snape nodded understandingly, but his chest constricted. "That's not uncommon, after…trauma."

Hermione twitched at the word.

"_Are_ you all right, Miss Granger?" Snape asked lightly, but leaned forward so that his elbows met his knees. "I don't want bravery, or any of this grin-and-bear-it nonsense you seem to have perfected. I just want the truth."

She cracked a half-smile. "You really can't let things go, can you?" she murmured, but it wasn't aimed to hurt him. He wished it had been. She shook her head. "I'm not sure if I'm all right yet. I _am_ sure that I will be, in time. I'm also sure that I can handle this."

Snape raked a hand through his hair. "I said the truth, Miss Granger," he growled.

She crossed her arms defiantly, but her tone was light enough. "And who says that wasn't the truth?"

He considered her carefully now. "You know, surely, that no one would blame you if you had some sort of melt-down. You are wholly entitled to some sort of tantrum, or any sort of reaction, really. In fact, you can partake in one this instant and I'll swear not to tell a soul."

She stared right back at him, and every hint of having dissipated. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that I'm okay?" She sounded grave now, perhaps even bitter, and while part of Snape hated causing her even more grief, quite a larger part was relieved that she was finally showing appropriate emotion.

He kicked his chair away from him and paced the room. "I want very much to believe that you're okay, Miss Granger. You misunderstand me. I just…" He stopped at the foot of her bed, and softened his tone. "I just don't understand how you can be. They violated you. _I _violated you, in perhaps one of the worst ways physically possible, and yet you face me as though I was never more, or less, than your Professor. I see the same respect in your eyes that's been there every day for the past seven years." He whispered now, not in the least proud of himself. "And I don't deserve it."

Hermione waited for Snape to calm himself before requesting that he resume his seat. "You're right," she began. "They hurt me. You hurt me; I won't deny that. But don't you think it's possible that you're underestimating my strength?"

He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand which silenced him.

"I can tell you that it wasn't your fault until I'm blue in the face, but we both know it won't reach you if it hasn't yet, so I'll save my breath. What I _will_ say is that wallowing in blame will only drive us both insane." The corner of her mouth turned up slightly to let him know she didn't mean it harshly. "I'm _not _okay, not quite yet. It's too fresh, perhaps. Nothing's happened legally, nothing in the way of closure. But I need you, and everyone else, to understand that I'm quite a bit stronger than anyone seems to believe. I can handle this, and I will." She lowered her voice and he strained to hear. "Everyone's got to make their contribution in this war. Perhaps this was just mine."

He lowered his eyes to the floor. "You have every right to be upset with me."

"It doesn't mean that I _am_." She tugged at his arm until he raised his gaze to her. "Professor, if I might…why did you come back today?"

"To see if you were all right."

"Yes, but that could've waited until tomorrow. So what had you so wound up that you felt compelled to pay me two visits in one day?"

He gave up willing her light tone to turn angry, and found he couldn't muster up the effort to lie to her. "I had an interesting conversation with Potter and Weasley today."

Hermione's face paled abruptly, and her mouth tightened. She hadn't considered her friends. "Damn," she whispered, and he got the feeling it was more to herself than it was to him. "Did you…do they know?"

Snape opened and closed his mouth several times before he could find the right words. "They do, but they didn't hear it from the Headmaster or me. They came bounding into his office, asking for you, and we were aptly prepared to tell them you were in St. Mungo's and to leave it at that. Mr. Potter had other ideas."

She let her head fall back onto her pillow, but he continued because he knew if he stopped, it would be for good. "It appears that Mr. Malfoy was boasting to his cronies about what happened to you, just loudly enough so that Potter overheard. He…left your fate in no uncertain terms."

Hermione's eyes widened when she realized what he was saying. "Malfoy's gone running his mouth, and by now, half the school must know. Right?"

Snape swallowed over the lump in his throat and nodded. "Yes, quite right. I'm sorry, Miss Granger. The Headmaster is attempting to instill a degree of damage control as we speak, but there's no telling how far the story has spread, so I wanted you to be prepared. You know, when you return."

Hermione nodded, even as she tried to wrap her head around the gossip she knew must be filling Hogwart's stony halls. "So Harry heard?"

"Indeed. Which brings me to the real reason behind my visit, Miss Granger." Snape folded his hands awkwardly in front of him, unsure of how to proceed. "Once the news…sank in, Mr. Potter was quite livid, understandably, but it was Mr. Weasley who was simply beside himself."

Hermione groaned and Snape caught a whisper of, "Poor Ron," under her breath.

"I am here because Mr. Weasley interpreted the incident in a rather disturbing manner. He insisted that my intentions weren't for the sake of the Wizarding World, but were instead fueled by hatred. Hatred towards you." Somehow, the formality with which he spoke seemed unnatural to him when he considered what he was saying.

After all that had been said, this took Hermione a moment to decipher. "You're saying that Ron thought you…that you did what you did because you hate me?"

Snape nodded, and watched her closely. "That's what he believes. So I came to ensure that you didn't share his views." He blinked several times. "I didn't act out of hatred, Miss Granger. I took nothing even resembling pleasure from what I did to you. I hate what I did to you, but I do _not _hate you. Please believe that."

Hermione turned to him and softened considerably. She took his hand in hers lightly, tentatively, as though not to startle him. A part of his mind balked at how ridiculous it was that she was comforting him.

"Ron's a little hot-headed," she laughed lightly. It was humorless, but it was there. "I know why you did it Professor, and I know you didn't want to. It's okay," she whispered. "I know we've never been particularly chummy, but I never thought you hated me."

It embarrassed Snape how much relief flooded into his body at her words. "I'm glad to hear it, Miss Granger."

And between them both, a thread was sewn; unbeknownst to them, a connection was woven through their bodies and served to repair something they didn't know was broken.

**AN: Reviews are like candy, and they shall be rewarded!**


	10. Strong

**Author's Note: Now wasn't that fast! Thank you to all of my lovely reviewers. **

Time crawled. Days seemed to be impersonating weeks, seconds seemed to lag considerably. Hermione longed for a giant vat of dreamless sleep because it was truly the only way to pass the time. When she wasn't sleeping, she was thinking, and that never ended well, so she did her very best to occupy her mind. Gradually, movement became easier as the soreness eased, and Hermione was able to stand and move about. She reorganized her hospital room several times; she was fairly certain this wasn't allowed, but nobody said a word about it. She got the feeling they would've let her do anything, they felt that badly for her.

It wasn't endearing; she didn't want their pity.

There was one Healer, though, who superbly impressed her. Delia Meyers was young, maybe only a few years older than Hermione, and was most definitely in the middle of an apprenticeship. Hermione wasn't on the girl's floor, but they'd met by chance one afternoon when the former took an unauthorized turn about the hospital. Delia now visited everyday after her shift ended.

Hermione liked her for several reasons. Delia was probably the sweetest woman she'd met in a long time. She talked about her patients (anonymously, of course) like they were her children. She automatically thought the best in everyone she met. She had a mop of pure white-blonde curls which made her look like a cupcake with a swirl of frosting topping it.

But what Hermione liked most was that Delia was warm towards her without any clue as to her ailment. She knew, surely, that something bad had happened but not specifics and she never once pressed Hermione. And she was the only one.

So it was with genuine happiness that she welcomed Delia's present visit. She bustled in, bubbling about a child she'd been able to cheer that morning. Hermione listened, allowing her mind to drown within other people's problems until a squeal startled her back to reality.

"Oh," Delia exclaimed, nearly bouncing in her chair, "I almost forgot! You'll be released tomorrow!"

Hermione froze. "I…what?"

Delia nodded eagerly, clearly under the assumption that she'd delivered to Hermione the greatest of news. "I heard your Head Healer talking over lunch! Promise you'll be surprised, though. Promise?"

She sounded so desperate that Hermione felt herself nodding even as her ears shut off. "I can't go back," she breathed, and now she was talking solely to herself. "Not now, not…yet."

Delia's sank back in her chair, crestfallen. "I'm sorry," she groaned, mentally kicking herself. "I thought that'd be _good_ news. You looked like you could use a little cheering."

Hermione sat up straight, trying to put her thoughts in order. She brushed her hair back and noted that it could use a wash.

Delia coughed lightly, to break the silence. "Hermione," she said warily, "if you don't mind me asking…why is it you don't want to go back to school?"

Hermione glanced up and saw the genuine concern etched into the green eyes of the intern before her, and marveled at the intensity with which she cared for people. She was quite sure she'd never met a more sincere person.

And she couldn't bring herself to lie. "I…what happened to me has gotten around school. By now, I'm sure they've all heard it. Probably even the professors know. And…I don't know, I thought I'd have a little more time to prepare myself. To think of what to say to people. What do I say to people?"

She wasn't sure if she wanted an answer or not, but Delia supplied her with one. She clasped Hermione's hand and applied a comforting pressure. "If you hold your head up high, nothing they say can get to you. I know that's probably easier said than done, but it's a motto that's gotten me through a lot."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "You have trouble with people? But…you're so sweet, I can't imagine anyone could have a problem with you." She realized how intrusive her comment might've been when Delia's eyes filled with tears, and she back-tracked. "Oh, no…I'm sorry Delia, that must've sounded incredibly invasive; you don't have to talk about it."

Delia waved her apology away and swiped at her eyes in frustration. "Don't be silly, you're not invasive." She laughed lightly. "Mum always said I cried too easily. I guess I could use a little more of a filter, but I've always had a lot of emotions." She shrugged unapologetically. "Anyways, I'm not embarrassed about to talk about it anymore.

"When I was younger, and even in University, I was always teased about my weight. I knew I was bigger, obviously. I could see the differences between myself and other girls my age. It just hurt when people used it to hurt me." She wiped at a stray tear. "But eventually it stopped bothering me, because if those people had the ability to be that cruel, they were never going to be people I was interested in spending any amount of time with. And once I got that through my head, I got so much happier."

She considered Hermione for a moment. "I don't know what happened to you, so I can't give you any sort of first-hand advice. What I can do is tell you that people can't hurt you if you don't let them. Mentally, at least. You're a sweet girl, so I'm sure you've got your fair share of close friends back at school. You stick with them and ignore the rest, and when they can't get a rise out of you, they'll get amused by the next best thing. And they'll leave you alone."

Hermione felt her own eyes filling with tears, and she was _never _much of a crier. She studied Delia, who was bearing the very depths of her soul to Hermione, and couldn't help but wonder how in the world anybody could be cruel to someone so kind. Hermione glanced down. She didn't make the conclusive decision to tell Delia but before she knew it, her mouth was open and words were pouring out.

"I was raped." Saying it very nearly took all her breath away from her; she'd spent so much time blocking even the word from her mind. She was very grateful that Delia remained perfectly silent. "I got…caught up in a Death Eater meeting, and they took turns. And the son of one of the men, the worst of the men…he went around bragging that his dad had bedded a 'Mudblood'." She glanced up and was wholly unsurprised by the tears that were pouring down Delia's cheeks, but it still hurt to see. "I'm incredibly sorry about what happened to you, Delia, because you don't deserve it. Nobody does, but especially not you. And I just hope I can be as strong as you."

Delia shook her head to compose herself. "I think people should be taking lessons from _you_, Hermione. Look at you! It hasn't been more than a week since you were attacked. If it were me, I'd be a basket-case. But you're…calm."

Hermione wanted to say she was getting too much credit. She wanted to say that yes, she was all right now, but what was to happen when she returned to school? She wanted to say a lot of things.

What she actually said was, "Thank you, Delia."

Delia sat back. She could sense Hermione had a lot more to say, but she would never be the one to push her. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

-BREAK-

The knock on his office door grated his already tense nerves. He pulled the door open as he shrugged into his traveling cloak and was greeted with the utterly grim face of Minerva McGonagall.

At least his misery had company.

"Good morning, Severus," she murmured as he stepped past her and out to the hall.

"Is it?" he remarked.

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she said nothing. Together, they walked in silence until the reached the front gates. Then she spoke once more. "Any idea what you'll tell her?"

Snape ran a hand along his cleanly shaven jaw and faced her. "I was thinking something along the lines of, 'Yes, the whole school _is _buzzing about the incident of your rape'. Just really laying it out for her. What do you think?"

McGonagall pursed her lips tightly. "Yes, real cute, Severus. This is a perfect time for jokes."

Severus opened his mouth to spit a retort, but steeled himself. "You're right. I'm sorry. In all honesty, I've no idea what to say."

She softened, and reached for his shoulder. And for a moment, he stopped trying to be so strong, and let himself take comfort in her offered human contact.

And before long, it was over. Without another word between them, they clasped hands and were gone.

Snape felt slightly more nauseous than usual when they landed in front of St. Mungo's. He didn't think it had to do with Apparating.

The pair of them approached Hermione's door with a shared apprehension. It was McGonagall who bit the bullet and knocked. It was also she who opened the door with Hermione's permission.

She sat on the foot of her bed, awaiting their arrival. She was fiddling nervously with her wand—she sent a red spark fizzling to the floor every now and then and Snape had the sneaking suspicion that she didn't even notice. A small bag sat beside her containing, Snape was sure, the clothes she wore the day of the attack. She wore a gray sweat suit that was several sizes too large for her. She glanced up as they entered, and gave them each a welcoming smile in turn.

"Professors," she murmured.

McGonagall softened considerably at the sight of the girl. "How are you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione seemed to bristle at the question, which didn't surprise Snape. It must get old. "I'm fine." Her tone was light enough.

McGonagall nodded and patted her arm. Snape gripped the bag beside her and said, "If you're ready, Miss Granger."

She nodded and followed them back out the door. The professors flanked the girl like an odd pair of bodyguards. After a few moments, he felt a light tug at his sleeve and glanced down. Her toffee eyes were wide with an anxiety she was trying to suppress.

"Professor," she said softly, unsure of how to begin. "Does, erm…does everyone know?"

It was blunt and to the point and it sent McGonagall sputtering. Snape ignored his coworker, and made the decision not to ever lie to Hermione, not even to spare her pain. She had been right the other day. She was stronger than anyone thought.

"Yes," he said simply. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but word got out. Professor Dumbledore is prepared to dole out a hearty detention and point-reduction to anyone caught talking about you, however, so if you ever feel uncomfortable, you need only say the word."

Hermione nodded. "Tell him thank you, if you see him."

McGonagall interrupted then. "Miss Granger, you were cleared from the hospital, but that doesn't mean you have to return to classes immediately. If you'd prefer to take another few days, by all means, take them."

She shook her head fervently. "Thank you Professor, but I won't run. To tell you the truth, I've been bored to tears. It'll be good to get going again."

The professors exchanged a look. Each of them saw a determination within the girl that was inspiring, to say the least. In truth, the last person Severus Snape knew with that uncanny ability to heal was Lily Evans.

When they reached the front of the hospital, they grasped hands. Hermione's breathing was a little heavier than normal and he momentarily wondered if that lung was still giving her trouble, until he remembered her last experience with Apparating.

He didn't give her another second to dwell on it.

When they landed at Hogwarts, Snape felt that her grip on his hand had tightened. His eyes snapped open, and he saw a very green complexion staring back at him.

"Miss Granger, do you feel all right?"

She opened an eye cautiously and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the school. "Just fine."

They entered the castle and were immediately swallowed in bustle of students running to class. Hermione was cheered considerably when no one gave her even a second glance. The three climbed their way to the Fat Lady, with whom McGonagall shared the password.

Snape turned to Hermione then. "If you should ever need me—or, you know, a teacher—please come and knock on my door. Day or night."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the assumption that she couldn't take care of herself, but nodded. After promising for the umpteenth time to her Head of House that she'd only attend classes if she felt up to it, she was allowed to climb into the solitude of the portrait hole.

For a moment, she reveled in the silence. She breathed in the fire. It felt like home. It felt peaceful. That is, until a book thudded to the floor by one of the large armchairs. Hermione whipped around to face a boy whose hair seemed to be on fire and one whose glasses were slipping down the bridge of his nose.

"Hermione?"

And so it began.

**AN: Please review! Who knows, if I get enough feedback, maybe I'll be tempted to get another chapter out before I have to take another short break...oh that's evil, I know.**


	11. Fine

Hermione willed words to come to mind even as they stared at her, dumbfounded, but was left gaping like a fish.

It was Harry who finally spoke. "Well…you know, welcome back, Hermione." His voice was unsteady, and Hermione nearly offered him a seat, he looked that pale.

Hermione shook her head and forced out words. "Yeah, Harry. Thanks. It's good to be back." She hated how tight her throat was, how strained her voice sounded.

Ron emitted something like a guttural grown from beside Harry, which shocked them both. He swallowed harshly and attempted to control his fiercely red cheeks. "How, uh…how are you?"

Hermione smiled lightly, or attempted to, but glanced down. She knew that they knew, Snape had told her. That didn't mean she was looking forward to any heart-to-hearts with them. It was times like this when a female friend wouldn't hurt, and Ginny was too young to be burdened.

"I'm fine. But if it's all right, I really don't want to talk about it." She added the last bit when the curiosity ignited on both their faces. And instantly it vanished, for which she was grateful.

"Of course," Harry said, elbowing Ron in the ribs so that he nodded eagerly. "We won't make you. But listen, we're here…if you ever want to. Okay?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but then thought better of it and stuck to nodding. They _did_ care, which was touching. But somehow, she couldn't imagine herself ever talking to them about it.

Or to anyone, for that matter.

"Come on," Ron said to break the silence. "It's got to be lunch time by now."

Hermione dumped her belongings and quickly changed her clothes. Then, she followed them through the portrait hole and tried to ignore the fear that strangled her chest at the prospect of facing the student body all at once.

-BREAK-

Severus Snape stirred around what was by now a cold bowl of beef stew. Mindless dribble was being spewed around him, at him, on all sides and it was all he could do to block his ears to it. He couldn't care less _what _Witches Weekly was selling this week.

"Surely your mother told you it's impolite to play with your food, Severus," the Headmaster chimed from beside him.

Snape set down his spoon with a clang of finality but gave no other indication that he'd heard the man.

"What is it, my boy?"

Snape let out a snort of indignant laughter. What was it? He felt guilty. He felt responsible for the amount of scrutiny Miss Granger was bound to suffer. He felt sick every time he thought of attending another Death Eater meeting. And he'd very much like to scream all that at the top of his voice.

Instead, he went with, "I'm fine."

The Headmaster shrugged, not believing a word of it but choosing not to comment. It would come out eventually. It always did.

Snape's anxiety festered when the doors to the Great Hall swung open. A hush fell upon the room as Potter and Weasley hurried towards the Gryffindor table, flanking the sides of a very pale Hermione Granger.

-BREAK-

In one swift motion, all eyes shifted to Hermione instantaneously and conversation ceased to gossip-fueled whispers. She felt her cheeks redden, betraying her, and she shook down curtains of honey brown curls to hide her face. She felt a pressure against her hand and looked down to see Harry's fingers intertwining with hers, and she tightened her grip, forever thankful.

Hermione dropped herself rather unceremoniously beside Ginny Weasley. Harry sat next to her and Ron opposite them. Hermione held her breath and waited for the inevitable questions from the stark white faces around her.

She waited for nothing.

Neville, who looked quite like he'd swallowed a belly full of Hagrid's horrid Treacle Tart, bit his lip before attempting a smile. "Hey, Hermione," he said, loudly enough for tables around him to hear, "I need help with an essay for Transfigurations. Would you mind taking a look at it later?"

Hermione let out the breath she was holding and smiled sincerely at him. "Of course, Neville."

Realizing they weren't about to get any sort of show out of her, the rest of the student body shrugged and went back to fretting about their own trivial worries. And up above at the Head Table, Professor Snape felt his headache abating. And he smiled.

-BREAK-

Life returned to a passable version of normal for Hermione. Harry and Ron didn't bring up the incident again after that first day, and had proven to be terrific sources of distraction for her. She took up flying, and was actually rather good once she'd chosen the right kind of broom.

Additionally, she'd continued her work with Professor Snape after class, the agreement being that she never accompany him beyond the safety wards again. He wasn't as keen to let her forget as her friends had been.

One particular afternoon, Hermione sat above a sizzling purple concoction, sweat beads forming on her brow. She wrapped her hair around a quill to tuck it back and away and glanced up for only a second to see Snape studying her.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Something in my teeth?"

He shook his head when she spoke and came back to reality. "No, Miss Granger. I was merely wondering…you know, how are you feeling?"

Hermione tucked a stray tendril behind her ear and tried to remind herself that he was only concerned before she truly got irritated. "Like I could use a nap. Otherwise, I feel peachy. But I don't think that's what you're asking."

He discarded his own simmering cauldron and swept over to take the seat beside her. "You look tired constantly. There are times I catch you deep in thought, and it's not often because for one thing, you're careful, but it happens. And when it does, I see that you're certainly not fine." He softened his voice when he felt her prickle. "Look…have you put any thought into talking with someone?"

The delicate spin he put on the word _someone_ told her she wouldn't be speaking with just anyone. They'd had this conversation a dozen times in the two weeks since her return and it was growing incredibly tiresome.

"I'm tired because I don't sleep," she said simply, and it was true. It was when she was at rest that her mind was allowed to wander, and it always found her most destructive memories. Twice she'd woken up screaming, clutched by the ghostly remnants of an attack she'd rather not think about, and she'd scared the other girls in the dorm so severely, she vowed not to let it happen again.

"And I've told you, I won't speak with anyone. I'm not being flip, Professor, but I don't need to. I can handle it. I _am_ handling it."

Snape opened his mouth to argue, but steeled himself at the worried crease that appeared in her forehead. He sighed. "As you wish, Miss Granger."

Otherwise, Hermione saw her life finally calming back down. She'd completed the work she'd missed, she'd resumed regular trips to the library. And she was getting considerably better at Potions than either her or Professor Snape had ever thought possible.

So it was with good cheer that she traipsed down the dungeon steps beside Harry and Ron one Monday morning. "It's sickening that you're not completely dreading a double block of Potions with that bat," Ron murmured under his breath. Harry said nothing, but nodded vehemently.

Hermione laughed lightly. "You know I work with him after school. He's a lot more agreeable when you have to deal with him one on one. And I'm getting good at Potions, so stuff it."

They dumped their bags at their usual table and Hermione bid Neville a good morning before going to gather the prescribed ingredients for the Dreamless Sleep they were brewing. She was wholly unaware of the set of steely gray eyes that were narrowed in her direction.

She bid Snape hello with a nod of her head, which he returned, before setting to work in the blissful silence broken only by the simmering cauldrons. It was perhaps half an hour before Hermione doubled over due to a sharp pain in her stomach.

It sent her gasping, and immediately she tried to stifle it, but not quickly enough. Harry whipped his head around to see Hermione bent slightly forward, staring at the ground.

"What is it?" he asked urgently, not at all troubled to keep his voice down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Snape's head rise at the commotion, brow furrowed. That was all she needed.

"No, nothing," she muttered, and straightened to prove her point. She'd just set a reassuring smile on her face when she felt it again, only it had moved to her thigh. She kept her lips clamped shut, but couldn't control her leg from kicking out pathetically.

Snape rose at this, and was at their table in a matter of seconds. "Miss Granger, is everything quite all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm—"

"No, it's not," Harry interrupted, and Hermione sent him a deadly glare. He ignored it and turned to Snape. "She was just doubled over and gasping, don't let her tell you otherwise."

Snape's brow furrowed, concerned, and he bent toward them. "Where does it hurt?"

Hermione kicked Harry beneath the table and became aware of every eye in the room on them. "Really, I'm all right."

"Where?" Snape demanded.

She sighed. "It's nothing big. It was my stomach at first, and then my leg. I'm okay, probably just muscles—" but her words were halted as again the pain stabbed her. Closer, this time. Just about where her underwear began.

Despite herself, she panicked for a minute, and squirmed in her stool. "What's going on?" she heard herself say, and she saw Snape's bleached white face blurred in her vision. It hit her again.

And this time, it didn't miss. It plunged within her, deeply, and burned like a hot poker. She couldn't keep her mouth shut this time, and emitted a blood-curdling scream. She glanced down to find the source of her pain but found nothing, only air, only space.

Hermione jumped to her feet and stumbled before kicking her stool away from her. Snape reached out to catch her, but she collapsed, her knees making contact with concrete. In her haze, she was vaguely aware of Harry screaming at someone…she thought she might've heard the name "Malfoy"…before she welcomed the oblivion that washed over her.

**Author's Note: I'm back! Please review.**


	12. Trust

Hermione so gratefully welcomed the void that came with closed eyelids, but voices pounding around her forbade sleep. She twitched and stirred, and the voices hushed.

"Hermione?" said one tentatively.

She opened one eye, and then the next, and was faced with a room full of abruptly pale faces.

"What-?" Before she could finish her sentence, Madame Pomfrey bustled over and checked her vitals. She shined a light in Hermione's eyes, cupped her chin to gauge her complexion, and took her pulse several times before forcing a spoonful of something vile down her throat and declaring her healthy for the time being.

Professor Dumbledore leaned lightly on the edge of her bed and clasped his hands in his lap. "How are you feeling, my girl?"

Hermione swallowed hard, and answered with a question. "What happened?"

Snape cleared his throat from behind that Headmaster, his brow furrowed. "You don't remember?"

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to keep her panicking mind within check. "Oh no," she whispered, "I remember. I just don't quite understand it."

From the foot of the bed, it was Harry who piped up. "Don't worry, Hermione, I got the little prick—"

"That's enough, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall from beside him.

"You weren't there, Professor, you'd have attacked him too!" said Ron indignantly.

And then an argument erupted so quickly that Hermione was sure it was merely a continuation of something she'd missed in her sleep.

"Stop," she said quietly, but it was effective. Whatever it was that Pomfrey gave her burned in her belly but calmed her nerves. "Can someone please explain?" Her eyes found Snape. He was the most likely to keep his head, she reasoned.

He studied her carefully before he spoke. "How much do you know of Vodoun?"

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Not even the name."

Snape nodded, unsurprised. "I thought as much." He retrieved a chair from behind McGonagall and drew it up beside Dumbledore.

He folded his hands, and spoke. "Vodoun is a very old, very powerful, and very _dark_ form of Earth magic. It is so out-dated, we hardly recognized it. But that's what was used on you today.

"The concept is complex to say the least, but I'll cut out specifics. The theory behind it is this: control of one being can be attained through the use of a spell and an artifact belonging to subject. In laymen's terms, if you've got a wand and something belonging to whomever you wish to curse, you're golden."

Hermione pulled herself upright and furrowed her brow. "Sounds a lot like Voodoo."

Snape nodded deeply, slowly. "The ideas are similar. They derive from the same branch of Earth magic. The difference is that in Voodoo, a doll is made as a replica of the subject."

"And in Vodoun?"

Snape stared at her evenly. "A human substitute is used."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times. "Spell it out for me," she said finally.

Snape leaned forward slightly, his face grave. "In Vodoun, a human is used as a voluntary surrogate for whomever one wishes to curse. The surrogate need only wear an article of the subject's clothing, say, for the curse to work. I stress the word voluntary, for a surrogate must be just that. After the spell is cast, a surrogate can experience virtually anything, aside from death."

Hermione was floored, primarily by the fact that she'd never even heard of such magic. "I take it that whatever someone does to the substitute happens to whomever they wish to curse?"

"Precisely."

Hermione nodded. "And that's what happened in class." It wasn't a question this time, and her voice sounded gravelly even to her.

Snape nodded, but said nothing; instead, he gave her a moment for it to sink in.

She glanced up after a moment of pure silence. "Who was it?"

"Malfoy," Harry spit out from the foot of the bed.

Hermione nodded, but Snape didn't at all like how wide and almost haunted her stare had become. "Let me get this straight," she murmured. "Malfoy somehow acquired something of mine, convinced some girl to wear it, bewitched her, and then—then—what? What was it he did?" She bit her lip. "I saw nothing, I saw air. But it felt, you know, it felt like—"

And quite suddenly, she couldn't get enough air.

A glass of water was pushed to her mouth firmly, but she accepted it without a fight. Her cheeks were ablaze as she felt every eye in the room fill with pity for her.

When Snape was sure she'd calmed, he broke it to her as gently as one could when talking of such things. "It was Miss Parkinson who agreed; she wore some sort of hair-band of yours."

Hermione looked up, and her eyes were steely. "What did he put into her? Into me? It wasn't…"

She shut her mouth quickly, and Snape had the sneaking suspicion that it was to prevent a cry from escaping. He bit his cheek to keep his wits.

"His wand, Miss Granger. It was his wand."

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, but curiously the tightness in her chest didn't ease. "I don't know if that's better or worse," she admitted, and instantly hated herself for allowing even a second of weakness. At the same time, she cursed Malfoy, and his entire ancestry, because nearly a month of impressive emotional strength had been shattered by him in a single afternoon.

And she hated to admit that she broke nearly as badly as she did the first time around.

"So what does this mean?" she asked, her rationale picking up her slack. "That I'm now vulnerable to everyone who has access to my stuff?"

It was McGonagall who spoke now, even as tears poured down her cheeks. "No, no, my girl, there are repellent spells, which were cast immediately after the evidence of Vodoun presented itself. You are safe now."

Hermione stopped herself from saying she _thought_ she was safe before. She shook her head imperceptibly; this was no time for hostility, she had no one to blame but Malfoy. Instead, she nodded.

Her head was only half clear as she bid them all good-day, with the promise that she'd stop by McGonagall's office when she was released the following evening. She was assaulted by more hugs than she'd ever need from Harry and Ron both. And finally, they all filed out.

Save for one.

Professor Snape made no indication that he was prepared to vacate his seat any time soon.

"Something on your mind?" she asked him with an attempt at humor, but it died between them.

"Something on _yours_?" he retorted.

And she cocked her head, studying him. "I have a question, but it might be rather personal."

He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. She'd been, by all intents and purposes, _raped_ yet again and she was worried about offending him. "By all means, Miss Granger, ask me anything."

She bit her lip, and her cheeks paled. "I was just wondering…does it always hurt? Or…you know, did it only hurt because I was a virgin? Maybe that's a stupid question, I'm sorry…"

She trailed off, the picture of uncertainty, of anxiety, and Snape had never felt so sorry for anyone in his life. He, the Bat of the Dungeons, could've cried for her.

"No, Miss Granger," he whispered, and took Dumbledore's seat on the edge of her bed. "No one in the world should have to go through what you've gone through twice now; it's perhaps one of the worst evils in the world. It is so despicable primarily because the tool these men use is something that is meant to be intimate, something that is meant to be bred from love. What has hurt you so badly can also be one of the most beautiful experiences when…_done_ correctly, done gently. And I hope you can believe me."

It occurred to Hermione that having the sex talk with Professor Snape, of all people, should've made her insides squirm uncomfortably. She was surprised when it didn't. She found herself wondering if Snape had ever loved before. Hermione counted herself lucky, in that instant, that he felt her mature enough to trust her with talk like this. Her thighs burned, her lower belly ached, and she was sure that part of her psyche was irreparably damaged. But while every rational fiber of her being screamed that he was spitting lies, something in her heart told her to trust him.

And trust him she did.

**Author's Note: PLEASE REVIEW :)**


	13. Weak

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from lashing out all through the following day. She never had any patience for Madame Pomfrey's consistent bustling, but presently, the ache in her pelvic region was threatening to send her over the edge. Thankfully, she managed to keep her silence until Pomfrey finally bid her leave.

Hermione dressed quickly and trudged through the halls, but as soon as she was in the plain sight of the student body, she very nearly sprinted back to the hospital wing. It was evident that even this incident had spread like wildfire. Eyes landed on her and widened with every step she made. Most filled with pity. Some with undisguised intrigue. The worst was when she saw lust.

She quickened her pace.

She'd broken into something of a run, and was consequently panting, when she threw open the door to McGonagall's office and slammed it behind her. In her haste, she'd even forgone knocking. She'd never been so brazen.

McGonagall's shocked face shot up at the sound of her unannounced entrance. She was on her feet and by Hermione's side rather quickly for a witch who was getting on in years.

"Forgive me," Hermione breathed, putting a hand to her chest to calm the panting. "That was rude, I'm sorry."

McGonagall waved away her apology and ushered—or rather, pushed—Hermione into a chair. "Not at all," she murmured. "But if I might, why were you in such a hurry?"

She didn't know what it was but she couldn't muster the effort it would take to lie. "I hate being stared at."

McGonagall's brow furrowed, but not with confusion. Hermione elaborated anyway. "They're all either intrigued by me or they pity me. I don't like seeing either." Hermione shook her head and plastered a smile on her face, but it slipped into something of a grimace.

McGonagall spread her fingers flat across her desk and felt the oak. She heaved a sigh. "Miss Granger, there's something we need to talk about."

Hermione didn't at all like the way her voice strained. There wasn't much that got her Transfigurations professor nervous. "I'm listening."

"Your doctors insist you talk to a professional, and the other professors and I agree." She spoke with finality, and with strictness, but it waivered.

Hermione was out of her chair, her back pressed against the door, before McGonagall could blink. "Not you, too," she breathed, and closed her eyes.

McGonagall made to rise, but then thought better of it, and remained seated so as not to startle her. "Miss Granger, please sit." She continued even though Hermione ignored her request. "Look, this isn't a punishment. You have to admit that, while you've held up tremendously, these past few weeks have been trying. And Mr. Malfoy's actions in no way sped up your healing."

Hermione bit her lip and her body tensed. "I'm not a loon," she bit out, and immediately regretted her anger when her Head of House recoiled. She softened her tone. "Look, Professor, I'm doing fine. _Visibly_ fine. I don't cry, I pay attention in class, I've kept my grades up. What else can I do to show you all that I'm okay?"

McGonagall shook her head, and really studied Hermione for a moment. "Even now, you're trying so hard to prove you've healed perfectly, that you remain unaffected by what happened to you." Now she rose, and walked forward slowly, her face pinched by a scrutiny that did not sit well with Hermione. "Since when are you forbidden to be hurt, to cry?"

Hermione wished she could back away further, but her back was quite literally against the wall. "I'm not weak."

McGonagall stood before her, and reached a hand out to Hermione's shoulder even though the girl flinched at the sudden movement. "Nobody said you were. Hermione, asking for help, or accepting in your case, isn't showing weakness. Some would argue that acknowledging you need help is a testament to your strength."

Hermione's chest tightened and she felt immensely constricted. McGonagall's narrowed, but warm, eyes were watching her every move and it was in that moment that Hermione questioned her own actions. Why _was_ she trying so hard? Who was this act for? Not for her, certainly.

She felt a great, heaving sob bubbling in her chest and then in her throat in the same second that her knees hit the floor.

And for the first time since she'd been hurt, she allowed herself to cry.

-BREAK-

Snape rapped on McGonagall's office door, but burst in without permission at the sound of violent crying. It was a sight he'd predicted he'd never see.

McGonagall sat on the cold tile floor, her arms wrapped around the shoulders of a shivering, weeping Hermione Granger. The latter had her knees tucked up beneath her chin, straining unsuccessfully to reign in her escaped emotions. Her cheeks were bright red and stained with tears, and Snape's heart clenched with fear momentarily at the thought that something else might've hurt her.

McGonagall's expression told him otherwise. "Severus," she said quietly, as though not to alert the crumpled girl in her arms. "Something you needed?"

Snape hesitated, and then fumbled with a stack of papers which he set atop her desk. "Sorry to intrude," he murmured, and he sounded it, "but the Headmaster sent me with these, and he requests a word." His eyes flew apologetically towards Hermione. "He said it was urgent."

McGonagall bit her lip and rolled her eyes and Snape was quite sure she'd have liked to tell Dumbledore where to stick his urgency. Nevertheless, she directed her next words at Hermione. "Miss Granger, will you at least think about it?"

Hermione, who had cowered shamefully when Snape first arrived, now sat straight up and put herself to rights. "Yes, yes, I'll do it." Snape had an inkling as to what she was agreeing to and it was clear to both professors that her acquiesce was merely to shut them up. Neither cared.

McGonagall beamed and patted her leg. The two straightened, and the former headed straight for the Floo. "Severus, will you see Miss Granger back to her dorm?"

Before either could argue, she was swallowed by and emerald blaze. Snape turned awkwardly to the sniffling girl before him, who seemed rather keen on keeping her tear-streaked face hidden.

"It's all right, Professor," she said, seeming to sense his discomfort, "I don't need a babysitter."

Her tone was light, but he disliked it all the same. While it was true that he had very little experience with weepy teenage girls, he reasoned that he very likely contributed to the source of her tears and as such, it was his duty to see that she was all right.

"Please allow me to escort you, Miss Granger. I was headed back toward Gryffindor common room, anyway." It was a lie, but neither chose to comment.

"I was actually going to take a turn around the library," she muttered. She hadn't planned on that, actually, but sitting in an empty, silent common room seemed half as appealing at the moment.

Snape raised a brow. "Looking for anything in particular?"

Hermione thought she might've heard a hint of a challenge in his voice, and rose to it. "Yes, now that you ask. There's a book on the advantages of potting infantile mandrake plants that I've walked past for seven years and have yet to pick up. I think today is as good a day as any."

Snape suppressed the inappropriate bubble of giddiness he felt at the cessation of her tears, and became aware that they'd entered a sort of battle of wits. "Why, Miss Granger, if I'd known that potted mandrakes were so interesting a topic to you, I would've approached you earlier! It just so happens I've got several published papers on the subject in my office."

Hermione fought her lip's insistence to turn up in the corner. "Might I ask to read them, then, Professor?"

And together they walked to the dungeons, goading each other for the length of it.

-BREAK-

"The acrimonious properties in the love potion automatically refrain it from being tasteless."

"But the potion needn't be tasteless, must it, if it's passably hidden within a stronger substance!"

They'd been going at it for the better part of three hours now, debating topic after topic until Severus's growling stomach alerted them to dinner time. Instead of making a trip to the Great Hall, however, both opted to take their meals in the comfort of Snape's office.

Snape was discarding the remnants of a turkey sandwich when he finally glanced over at Hermione, who couldn't have taken more than a couple bites from the sandwich balanced on her lap. "Would you prefer something else?" he asked lightly.

Hermione glanced up, as though just remembering his presence, before shaking her head. "No thank you, it's fine." She took one last measly bite before sending her tray back to the kitchen with a flick of her wand.

Snape furrowed his brow. He'd been in her company for the better part of the afternoon, and she'd not eaten a thing. He studied her for a moment. She'd discarded her school robes and he saw the way her sweater hung loosely, the way her jeans were held up only by a belt, and wondered if she'd made eating scarcely a habit.

He cleared his throat, and wondered how to address her. "Something wrong with your appetite? I couldn't help but notice you didn't eat much."

Hermione shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "Not hungry, I guess."

Snape nearly mentioned that by the looks of it, she was never hungry, but bit his tongue. She eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.

Instead, she wondered when she'd become so comfortable in the presence of her Potions professor. Hours had passed filled with amiable conversation, and she thought it likely that it was the most enjoyable few hours she'd had in a long while.

It was Snape who spoke next. "Might I inquire as to what you were discussing with Professor McGonagall?"

He posed the question so formally, Hermione nearly laughed. For a spy, he wasn't sneaky. "Yes, yes, you've all finally worn me down." Her light tone darkened momentarily. "I've agreed to talk to someone."

Snape leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm glad to hear it, Miss Granger. I know you don't need it," he said, more for her benefit, "but it might help all the same." She'd smiled at his attempt to cheer her, but not quite heartily. "There's no shame in getting help."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's what I keep hearing. I just…" She hesitated. "I just don't see how continuing to talk about it, over and over again, could help. I would give anything in the world to _forget_ about it, and I doubt that's what I'll learn."

Snape shrugged. "I don't have much experience in this department, either. All I can say is maybe you won't merely be talking about it. You'll be talking through it. And maybe, in the end, that's what will help you forget."

Hermione studied her hands, but Snape continued.

"And if that's not possible, you'll at least learn how to cope."

**Author's Note: I love reviews so much, they're like Christmas presents in August.**


	14. Exposed

Hermione tapped her foot nervously until Snape's steadying hand on her knee halted all motion. She glanced at him, disgruntled, only to be met by an amused little smile playing on his lips.

"I'm glad one of us is enjoying himself," she bit, out of anxiety rather than actual anger.

His smile faded. "I'm not," he said sincerely. "I apologize."

Now _she_ felt badly. She opened her mouth to explain her tone, but the door to the waiting room opened and Hermione's nerves took a nose dive.

They needn't have.

Hermione was treated by the sight of the smiling, round, white-frosted nurse she'd met a little over a month ago. "Delia!"

The girl beamed and enveloped Hermione in a hug that nearly crushed her ribcage. "How are you, my girl?"

"I'm just fine," Hermione replied. It struck them both that it was an odd answer, considering where they were currently standing, but neither chose to comment. "And you? What brings you to this particular wing of the hospital?"

Delia smiled brightly. "Why, you do, girl!"

Hermione's own smile faltered. "I...what?"

Delia nudged Hermione's shoulder playfully. "I'm going to be your...adviser, let's call it. It's not necessarily what I was hired to do, but I am trained in it, and your Professor here sought me personally. How could I refuse?"

Hermione's spirits soared at Delia's words, until the conversation turned towards the surly man beside them, and then her spirits halted, uncertain. Hermione turned to Snape, whose face was as stony as ever, but whose mouth was a little tighter than usual. "You...you asked for Delia? For me?"

He bowed his head lightly, out of embarrassment at being called to attention, and in her mind's eye, Hermione pictured him kicking at the ground like a chastised child. "Professor McGonagall had mentioned that you'd grown rather close to a member of the staff, and I merely inquired as to whether or not the nurse in question was interested or not." He lowered his voice, but looked at Hermione with such an honest concern that it floored her. "I thought it was what you'd want."

Hermione wanted to hug him. Quite literally, she wanted to throw her arms around the same snarky, cruel Bat whom, on many occasions had made her want to curse him in the past. Reasoning that that much emotion might send the man into epileptic shock, she settled with a hand on his forearm. Even at this he stiffened, unaccustomed to it, but he didn't pull away so she held fast.

"Thank you," she said simply, and her wide toffee eyes told him she meant it wholeheartedly.

He swallowed the inopportune squeal of joy that bubbled in his chest at her gratitude, and replied, "You're quite welcome, Hermione."

Neither noticed, nor choice to comment, on the fact that it was the first time he'd addressed her by her first name.

-BREAK-

"So, my girl, where shall we start?" Delia purred as she settled back into the vinyl chaise lounge.

Hermione sat opposite her and gulped. Sure, it was nice to see Delia, but that didn't mean she wanted to talk. She would _never_ want to talk.

So she shrugged.

And Delia furrowed her brow. "Look, I know you don't want to be here, regardless of who sits in front of you." She spoke over Hermione who'd opened her mouth to protest. "But the fact of the matter is that now these sessions mandatory, and really quite crucial to your health. So, talk."

Hermione bit her lip. "I truly don't know what it is you're all trying to get me to say," she murmured at last. "I've done everything right. I've done all you've asked of me. I'm even here, against my better judgment. And still, not one person will concede to the fact that I might actually be fine!" Hermione leaned forward and took control of the conversation. "Why, pray tell, is that?"

Delia leaned forward, challenging her, and stole the conversation right back. "You're here because you're a good little actress, but that's all this is. An act. We've been trained, Hermione—or at least I've been—and your professors have seen traumatized students before. Perhaps you're giving them a run for their money, but that's all you're doing and while you're spending so much time outrunning everyone around you, you're the only one not paying attention to the issue at hand, which is your truly fragile mental health."

Hermione leaned back, appropriately chastised, and Delia softened her tone. She patted Hermione's leg affectionately. "Please understand that we wouldn't be pushing it if we didn't think you needed to talk. But your health depends on this." Then, she studied Hermione. She witnessed the way the girl's dress hung a little too loosely, how her cheeks sunk a little too deeply, and furrowed her brow. "Perhaps your health is in a more precarious state than we've realized."

Hermione glanced down and tugged at her dress, but said nothing. She sighed. "I'm sorry," she muttered, and lowered her eyes because she hated admitting defeat. "I know you're all trying to help. I'd just prefer to handle it in my own way."

Delia nodded gently. "If that were possible, we'd love to see it. But it's quite obvious that your own way is rather harmful to you," she said, gesturing towards Hermione's withering body. "When's the last time you've eaten?"

Hermione opened her mouth, and then shut it when words eluded her. Finally, she murmured, "Well, I can't tell you precisely…but I've eaten. You know, recently."

Delia cocked an eyebrow. "Run me through an average day. And don't lie."

Hermione shrugged. "Sometimes there's oatmeal in the mornings, and maybe a sandwich for lunch. And chicken, for dinner. Something like that."

Delia's eyebrow rose even further.

Hermione lowered her head. "Well, sometimes I don't eat it all…"

"I'd say that occurs more frequently than not," Delia murmured.

Hermione stared intently at the floor.

Delia leaned forward. "This is good, Hermione, this is progress. Can you tell me why it is you don't eat? What happens at mealtimes, what do you think of, that changes your mind?"

Hermione closed her eyes. In truth, she hadn't realized how consistently she'd been skipping meals. Surely her clothing was looser, and she could count more of her ribs when she bathed. But she'd attributed that to stress. "Truthfully, I don't know," she muttered. "I guess…I don't know, I can control it. It's never been a conscious decision, mind you; I'd never do that. But…it's the only thing that's been totally up to me since I returned to school. It felt better to focus on a different sort of pain."

She could've slapped herself. Even Delia, the professional, weakened at the pain in Hermione's voice. Hermione hadn't known that was in her. She furrowed her brow. She didn't like this. She'd always known herself so well; she was extremely good with self-perception. Now, she was discovering aspects of herself under the scrutiny of another and it all felt artificial.

Hermione shut her mouth before she could dig a bigger hole.

Delia, however, nodded at Hermione's pronouncement. "I can't tell you how common eating disorders become as a result of trauma. You're using it as a coping mechanism; when the rest of your life is chaotic, at least you know this is one thing you can control."

Hermione nodded, despite herself.

"I'm going to prescribe you a diet, and I'll have Professor Snape see that you stick to it," Delia murmured.

Hermione weighed her options, and realized arguing wouldn't get her anywhere. So she nodded in the hopes that they were wrapping up.

Of course not.

"Let's get to the harder stuff, shall we?" Delia continued.

Hermione groaned audibly, and it was ignored.

"I hear there was another incident in class last week," she muttered. "Tell me about that."

Hermione chose her words carefully. "It was something called Vodoun. Professor Snape explained it as an ancient branch of Earth magic that allows you to manipulate whomever you're trying to curse as long as you've got a belonging. It's very complicated." She trailed off there.

Delia furrowed her brow. "That was a textbook answer, if I ever heard one." She leaned forward. "Tell me what happened to _you_."

Hermione sighed, and threw her eyes to the floor, not allowing them to move until she'd finished. "I was confused. I felt something in my stomach, at first. It was sharp, but it was quick, so I ignored it. But it moved to my thigh. And then…well, you know, farther." She steadied her breathing with effort, and Delia waited silently. "It felt—it felt just like that night. But I couldn't see anything, I saw air—only space."

Delia nodded. "How did you react to that? How, truly, do you feel?"

Hermione glanced up, finally, into the eyes of her friend who wanted nothing more than to be assured of her health. She found one word to sum it all up. "Exposed," she breathed.

Releasing it into the air did loosen the tension in her chest a bit.

Delia nodded. "I'm not surprised. Continue."

Hermione's breathing was shallow, now. She was nearly panting. "I thought it was over. Truly, unmistakably over. And then that, in the middle of class. It brings a new meaning to the word vulnerable. I just…I want to be assured that it's over with."

Delia nodded. "And when do you think that will happen for you?"

Hermione raised her eyes then, and they were as steely as honey-brown eyes could be. "When they're either imprisoned, or dead."

**Author's Note: I'm baaack! I'm incredibly sorry for the wait, I've been in school and it's as crazy as ever. Please review, and I promise not to take so long in the future!**


	15. Intentions

Hermione pushed her plate away forcefully and declared, "I'm full," for perhaps the fifth time. Snape pushed it right back.

"You aren't through till you've eaten everything," he insisted. "I'll not have you starving yourself—you'll stick to this meal plan if it kills me."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. It'd been a week since her first therapy session and Snape had taken the diet incredibly seriously—he seemed happy to be put to use. Every day since, she ate breakfast and lunch under the careful scrutiny of her friends and dinner with him while they worked. And while at first the amounts she was instructed to eat seemed daunting, slowly the weight was crawling back on and she looked less and less like she was knocking at death's door.

Hermione finally popped the last bite of chicken into her mouth and Snape smiled sincerely as he cleared he dishes. It didn't take much for him to smile these days, and this image was so at odds with the perpetually surly Potions professor that it sent the rest of the students spinning. Hermione wondered what inspired the change, too, and surmised that he was just pleased she was finally listening.

And she was. Something had struck her in Delia's office; she now knew what it would take to ease her mind.

She had to get her revenge, and she had to get it right.

-BREAK-

Snape closed the door with a snap behind his heels and was faced with the now eternally grim faces that comprised the Order. Professor Dumbledore sat at the head of Twelve Grimmauld Place's long dining table and Snape deposited himself into the chair by his side.

"Good morning, Severus," the Headmaster greeted in a tone that was quite at odds with the atmosphere.

Severus merely nodded in return. No pleasantries would be exchanged today. "We have news?"

The question was aimed at Kingsley who, until addressed, had his head bent forward seemingly examining the woodwork of the table. Presently, he straightened, and Snape could see he looked like he'd aged alarmingly since he'd last seen the Auror.

"It isn't good news, unfortunately," he sighed, his soft baritone reverberating off the surrounding stone.

Snape swallowed, but held fast to the blank mask on his face. "You've received word of Miss Granger's rape kit, I presume?"

Kingsley bowed his head deeply in assent, and Mr. Weasley cleared his throat uncomfortably beside him.

"And?"

Kingsley furrowed his brow almost apologetically. "And there were seven semen samples, all right."

Snape loosened—he'd feared something had gone wrong—until he noticed how tense those around him remained.

"The only identifiable sample," Kinsley muttered, "was yours."

Snape felt Lupin's hand rest gently on his shoulder and resisted the urge to throw it off. From the opposite end of the table, Mrs. Weasley's tragic coos burned his ears. McGonagall's lips were drawn in a tight a line as ever. And, to Snape's dismay, Potter and Weasley were fidgeting angrily in their chairs, clearly itching to get their destructive hands on something, anything.

He'd quite like to join them.

Instead, he steadied his breathing. "How can that be?" he muttered through his teeth.

Kingsley shrugged. "We've no idea. The samples are there, but they've been stripped of the markers that Muggles use as means of identification—it's a science I don't understand. All I know is the impossible has happened and legally, you're the only one we'd be able to charge—you know, if she wished."

Snape wracked his mind for a potion or a spell that could explain what Kingsley was saying but even his advanced mind turned up empty. He swung his gaze to meet the somber eyes of the Headmaster who shrugged in response.

"It has stumped as all," he murmured gently.

Snape dropped his head into his hands and allowed his eyes to close against the news that taunted him. No DNA. No prosecutorial possibilities. No case.

No justice.

Snape raised his head, then. "How are we going to tell her?"

To accompany his words, the door of the dining room banged open and they just caught a glimpse of Hermione stowing her wand in her robes once again.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Tell me what?"

-BREAK-

The room at once was still, like she'd intruded upon a meeting of statues. Then, chaos ensued.

"Hermione," Harry cried, "we left you in the common room!"

She nodded. "I wasn't aware I was to be locked and chained."

"But," Ron fumbled, "we were talking about going to play Quidditch! You always lose interest when we talk about Quidditch!"

Hermione crossed her arms defiantly. "Not when I know bloody well that the season hasn't started yet, I don't."

McGonagall rounded on the boys and let loose. "You boys had _one_ job, to not raise her suspicions,and you couldn't see to that!"

"Silence," Dumbledore said softly but clearly, and the room immediately obeyed. "I see no use in arguing blame over Miss Granger's arrival; the fact of the matter is that she has indeed arrived, and we must treat her like any other member of the Order."

Hermione nodded in gratitude and occupied the chair that Snape vacated for her. "May I ask what it is you all went to such great lengths to hide from me?"

Kingsley eyed the Headmaster for a moment before bowing his head to her in respect, and probably in shame, as he relayed the same story. To her credit, Hermione remained stony throughout the whole of his pronouncement. She sat still, and was granted silence, for perhaps a full minute after he was through.

Finally, she glanced up, and though her eyes gleaned with tears, she smiled lightly and shrugged. "So, I guess that's that, then."

Mrs. Weasley came bustling over, fresh tears streaming down her own face, and draped an arm around the girl's shoulders. The rest of them shifted uncomfortably, wanting so bad to dispel her statement but knowing perfectly well she was right.

It was Snape who swallowed his guilt for the time being and studied the girl—the woman—in front of him. She sat rigid, patting the back of the woman who was supposed to be comforting her, and shaking the hand of each Order member in turn as they bid her their condolences upon their exits.

He caught her arm before she could follow them, and shut the door she was trying so desperately to squeeze through.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Miss Granger," he murmured dangerously, "but you have no intention of letting them off the hook, do you?"

Hermione struggled internally for a moment before braving her face to him and standing tall. She cocked an eyebrow, blatantly daring him to challenge her, and crossed her arms.

"Not in the slightest."

**Author's Note: PLEASE REVIEW, thank you!**


	16. Benevolence

"_Stupefy!_"

Hermione's wand flew out of her hand for the fourth time in the span of five minutes, and she brushed her hair furiously behind her ears as if to rip it out.

"Just concentrate, Miss Granger," Snape drawled, fighting the smirk that threatened to turn the corners of his mouth. It was amusing; she grew ruddier by the second.

Hermione retrieved her wand and sent a binding jinx for his legs that blessedly hit its mark. "I _am_," she bit back.

It had been a week since Hermione's chilling admission, and Snape had only spent a day deliberating a course of action. He weighed the chances that he'd actually be able to stop her from seeking those wretched men against his desire to do just that.

When you can't beat them, join them, right?

And so he took her under his wing, determined to teach her every damned thing he knew. She would never be without a bodyguard if he had his way. And he thanked Merlin every day that the raw material he was given to work with happened to be the brightest mind and one of the fastest wands—thank you, Potter—in Hogwarts history.

That didn't change the fact that he'd been a Death Eater for over eighteen years and was a bloody skilled one at that. He'd managed to dodge, block, or reverberate nearly every spell she hurtled at him.

This only provoked Hermione's determination. What started as a friendly duel was quickly turning into a personal offense, and Hermione had no mercy. Snape finally unbound himself and flew a few stray hairs out of his eyes.

"Now you're getting it," he breathed, allowing her a smile.

Hermione straightened and smiled back, trying to calm her breathing. Her smile fell when Snape drew himself to full height, looking decidedly grimmer.

"I think it's time we battled Occlumency."

Hermione's heart sank like a ship with no bottom.

Snape saw her smile evaporate, and softened. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I do think its importance should not be minimized. The more access they have to your mind, to your memories, the more they can torment you. And believe me when I say they will."

Her pride beat her fear, and she too stood to attention. "I'm ready when you are."

Snape nodded in appreciation. "Brace yourself. _Legilimens._"

He met the simplest of wards: a brick wall. He rolled his eyes internally and dismantled it, brick by brick. It gave him a bit of a fight towards the middle, but before long, it all came tumbling like books stacked far too high. Her memories evaded him; they shied away from the foreign presence, and it was only too obvious to Snape which memories were the most desperate to flee.

One by one, he siphoned through them. He saw a little girl with hair like toffee plaited down her back; she swung by herself on a play-set in a deserted yard.

He saw the same little girl, honey eyes brimming with joy, clutching a sheaf of parchment bedecked with emerald ink. He saw her hopping on a broomstick for the first time, and promptly falling off. He saw her older now, her hair falling in ringlets as she spun on the dance floor of what appeared to be a wedding reception.

And then she lay broken on bloodstained grass, her face contorted with torment and her shrieks pervading the air.

"No!"

Snape felt himself being ejected, forcefully, from her mind the instant she got her bearings. It was so forceful, in fact, that he fell back onto the stone floor.

He clambered back to his feet and his eyes sought hers. She lay huddled on the floor, hunched in a pain he realized he didn't fully understand. He wasn't sure he ever would, or could. Her hands clutched the sides of her head, her fingers curled around hunks of hair, and she rocked herself gently.

Snape could've kicked himself and mentally, he did. He thought she'd been ready.

He was by her side in an instant but merely the touch of his hand on her shoulder caused her to jump nearly out of her skin. He backed away and held his hands up, reassuring that he posed no threat. She lifted her head and caught sight of him, and instantly she shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she murmured and even as she spoke, she untangled her limbs and made to stand. He caught her elbow halfway up and assisted her. "I'm sorry, let's have another go."

Snape blanched and rounded on her. "Another go? You nearly had a mental break, I'll not be risking your health for this. I dare say that'd be counterproductive."

Hermione raked a hand through her hair and narrowed her eyes. "I can do it," she snapped. "Go again."

Snape gauged her face; he saw the determination in her eyes, the ferocity with which she clutched her wand, and steeled himself. "Once more," he agreed. "And Miss Granger, I do advise an object less obvious than a brick wall. I myself use a placid lake."

Hermione turned his suggestion over a few times and nodded. "A lake," she murmured, "I'll give it a go."

He nodded, and raised his wand. "If you're ready, then. _Legilimens._"

He was pleased with the detail she'd managed in the mere moments he gave her to prepare. It was shaky, but it was already sturdier than the brick wall. The lake's surface was rolling gently and that was due to the breeze he felt immediately. Detailed.

Snape prodded the lake, and met murky, muddy water, which he was able to wade through but which would be solid with merely a lesson or two more. But wade through he did, and her memories sank low, as though to bury themselves in the sand.

He coerced them out.

And they played for him. He saw the girl, probably eighteen now, in a Muggle vehicle of some kind. She drove the thing through a drive-in at some eatery and he watched as she paid for the order of the person behind her, asking only that they pay it forward one day. He watched as she doled out greeting cards during the holiday season to the elderly resigned to nursing homes because their families had more important obligations.

He watched as she barked at several miscreants who pointlessly tormented a homeless man on a street corner, and then bought the man and his dog lunch.

And then he watched as men took turns with her, and he watched her resign herself to it.

Snape tasted the panic that threatened to overwhelm the both of them, and retreated voluntarily. He didn't like a second of the acceptance he witnessed, even though he knew that it saved her.

He opened his eyes and watched as Hermione collapsed into a folding chair and let her head fall into her hands. He took the chair opposite her, and contemplated her fully for perhaps the first time. Recently, he had regarded her as a pitiful, unfortunate victim and an exceptionally bright student. Her milder memories, however, enlightened him to a side of her that he didn't know existed in mankind today. He beheld a benevolence which he'd previously reserved for saints and the like and it was a trait he thought was sure had died in Dumbledore's generation.

Snape had never before seen such a genuinely kind mind.

No matter how thoroughly he searched, he couldn't find a memory that spoke ill of anybody. Even those of her captors, though they existed, were far and few between. It struck him that if there were more people like her, perhaps the world would be a different place. Perhaps the war they'd been stuck in for the better half of her life wouldn't even exist.

The possibilities were endless.

Presently, she sighed and pulled him back to reality. "I guess I've got a lot to learn," she murmured.

Snape leaned forward. "On the contrary, Miss Granger, I was rather impressed by that last attempt. With another lesson or two, I daresay we'd get you to a passable level. By the time we're through, not a soul in this world will be able to penetrate your mind, I promise you that."

She smiled at that, and let her shoulders slacken. Then, she studied him. "May I ask you something?"

Snape inclined his head in the affirmative.

"When it's just these private sessions, would it be too much to ask for you to call me Hermione? I think, more than anything else, it'd be a time-saver. I'd say it's high time we got more comfortable with each other if we're truly going to accomplish what we wish."

Snape tasted the name on his tongue and nodded. "All right. Hermione it is. And in these lessons—and these lessons alone—I give you permission to call me Severus."

Hermione smiled and nodded in both acknowledgement and thanks.

And then a sweet moment was destroyed when Snape clutched his left forearm.

Beneath his sleeve, the Dark Mark stirred.

**Author's Note: reviews make me update faster, hint hint.**


	17. Fodder

Hermione didn't know she was moving until her back hit the stone wall opposite Snape. She didn't realize she was breathing heavily, either, until he glanced up concernedly. She clamped a hand over her mouth.

She couldn't remove her eyes from the tattoo writhing on his left forearm. Snape quickly shook his sleeve back down, and shrugged into his cloak in one swift movement.

"Return to your dormitory, Miss Granger," he muttered briskly, tucking his wand within his robes. "We'll continue these lessons tomorrow."

Hermione opened her mouth several times before finally pursing her lips and nodding. He watched her retreat entirely before he stepped into the Floo.

Dust rose in clouds around his feet as he stepped out of the fireplace at Malfoy Manor. He was one of the last to arrive. He bowed low and suppressed the disgust that rose at the sight of the men he'd last seen with their pants around the ankles.

"Severus," the Dark Lord hissed. "You bring no treat this time, I see."

Snape bit his tongue before responding. "I'm afraid, my Lord, that the old fool has kept a considerably close eye on his precious Mudblood ever since. To bring another would have been…begging for trouble."

The Dark Lord waved away his explanation and addressed his followers at large. "I have news, my friends," he hissed, and every masked man stood to attention. Wormtail, unmasked and cast beyond the immediate circle, stood tall and proud and Snape had no doubt that what they were about to hear had to do with his interruption of the last meeting.

"When we last met—and dined upon that delectable Mudblood—" he murmured, flashing a gruesome smile at Snape, "you might recall that I was summoned away. That summons was to deal with progress made in a project I've been nurturing."

His voice was harsh and he breathed in, pausing to let his words sink in, before continuing dramatically. "I have a theory, my friends, and it is that the Ministry of Magic would be quite…_accommodating_ if only we approached them correctly. Well, I have indeed found the weakest link, as it were. She will prove to be a great ally."

He gestured towards a short, squat figure by the fireplace who emitted a nauseating giggle and offered a wave, revealing a sliver of pink sleeve. Snape bit the inside of his cheek, but found himself unsurprised. Dolores Umbridge always struck him as a little twisted upstairs. He nearly groaned, though, with fear at the travesty this meant for the Wizarding World. The Order had most certainly just lost a fair bit of footing. He wasn't thrilled to be the one to share this news.

A murmur of excitement sounded around the circle, and Voldemort allowed it. He revealed in it. It was their first break through in a while, and they would savor it.

"How's about a little celebration?" the Dark Lord hissed, beckoning Wormtail with his hand. The latter immediately through open the doors to the hall and disappeared around the corner momentarily. He returned moments later with a woman, bound and gagged, a bag over her head.

Wormtail shoved her to her knees directly before the Dark Lord and removed the bag. Snape vaguely recognized her as a Ministry employee. She was young—probably fresh out of University—and at the sight of the horrid serpent-like man before her, she began writing against her binds. She couldn't have stopped the scream that burned her throat even if she tried. Snape fought the intense urge to avert his eyes.

Voldemort swooped down beside her, chuckling. "I'll make you a deal," he hissed. Behind him, the Death Eaters cackled. "I'll let you live for as long as you can keep from blinking."

The woman's eyes widened, and her chest heaved as she gasped for breath. As the seconds passed, she seemed to barely notice the cries that escaped beyond the gag—she was so focused on keeping her eyes open. Snape gave her credit. She'd managed to withstand about thirty seconds, her screams now reverberating off the high ceilings.

And then she blinked.

-BREAK-

It was well past midnight when Snape Floo'd back into a pitch-black office. Tbus, it surprised him thoroughly when he lit the lanterns only to find Albus Dumbledore twiddling his thumbs idly behind the former's desk.

"Ah, Severus," the Headmaster sighed. "How was the meeting?"

Snape busied himself with Scourgifying the remaining blood which hinted as to the night's proceedings. "Splendid," he sneered. "We all had tea and indulged in pastries."

When the blood was gone, Snape collapsed wearily into the chair in front of his desk usually reserved for students. The role-reversal irritated him.

"I see you had a visit from Miss Granger," Snape sighed at last.

Dumbledore nodded deeply. "The girl is worried about you, Severus. I see you've proven to her there's something still human inside you, even if it is deep down." His tone was light and cajoling, but Snape resented it.

"She needn't worry," he said simply.

Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow and eyed Snape's freshly cleaned robes. "Needn't she?"

Snape shifted under his gaze. "Not my blood."

The Headmaster nodded. "I surmised as much. And whom was the object of Voldemort's torment tonight?"

Snape winced at the name, but eyed his elder carefully. "Another nameless Ministry drone."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. "There is no such creature."

Snape scoffed, and abandoned his chair. To relieve the stress of the night he'd endured, he took to pacing. "In this war, there are plenty. And that little girl was certainly one of them." Snape stumbled in his step slightly. "She might've been all of twenty-one years old, this one. He's getting them younger now."

Snape rounded on Dumbledore, prepared to defend his insensitivity, but he the object of his anger age immensely before him. Immediately, his anger dissipated.

Dumbledore was prepared to let Severus rant. He thought, perhaps, it was a part of the younger man's healing process and if that was the case, who was he to tamper with it? Dumbledore knew, better than most, that these "nameless Ministry drones" hurt Severus more than he cared to admit, and the more they dwelled on that pain, the worse the nightmares became.

Snape deposited himself back into the wooden chair and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "There was some information though, Headmaster."

Dumbledore imitated his employee and touched his fingertips together beneath his chin. "Please, continue."

"They've secured an ally within the Ministry, and a strong one at that. A powerful one."

Dumbledore held his breath and restrained from shaking his head only with difficulty. "Dare I ask whom?"

Snape lifted his eyes at this and laughed mirthlessly. "Dolores Umbridge."

The Headmaster weighed his answer. "And there was no evidence of an Unforgiveable being used?"

Snape smirked. "She was as nauseating as ever. There was no Imperius there."

They were each distracted by their own haunted thoughts, but they came to the same conclusion. The Wizarding World was indeed in more jeopardy than ever before.

-BREAK-

The grass beneath her back tickled Hermione's skin, which was a disturbing contrast to the searing agony between her legs. She could blame the lustful Lucius Malfoy for the latter. And as he began to use his teeth on her breasts, she found it impossible to keep from screaming.

And then someone was shaking her shoulder violently, as if to tear her arm away from it. "Hermione!"

She awoke at last. The burning in her throat told her that the shrieking hadn't been dreamt, but had been very real indeed. She swiped at the cold sweat that beaded her forehead, gasping in huge mouthfuls of air—she just couldn't get enough.

Her eyes eventually found the source of the voice that'd woken her. Ginny was perched on the edge of Hermione's bed, her face pale and pinched with uncertainty.

"Again?" Hermione whispered, but it was pointless; the entire dormitory was awake and holding its breath. Each girl had their eyes on her and their covers drawn up to their chins.

Ginny nodded, and waved away the apology she knew was coming. "Hermione," she said cautiously, "that's the third time this week. I…I dunno, I thought they were stopping!"

Hermione let her head fall forward and warmly welcomed the cold cloth that Ginny pressed to the back of her neck. "They were," she whispered. "I don't know what's rustled them up again. Perhaps I'm just stressed."

That was only half-true. Sure, she was immensely stressed—her workload was the heaviest it had ever been and since her return, all of her Professors insisted she received extensions on her homework. This made her even more devoted to finish on time.

But it wasn't merely that which coaxed the dreams. It'd been a week since she'd overheard the Order discussing the infiltration of the Ministry, and the betrayal of Umbridge. No one had to tell her that this spelled disaster.

She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. She'd Floo'd to Grimmauld Place in order to find Professor Snape—he'd missed a training session, and she wasn't pleased—and when she heard the low murmuring from behind closed doors, she couldn't help herself. Now that she knew the truth, half of her was glad because she could prepare herself.

The other half wish she hadn't overheard.

Snape was furious, initially, but Hermione found it easy to ignore him. She'd instead focused her attentions on the Headmaster who she knew wasn't about to beat around the bush just to keep her out of the loop.

Dumbledore had given in. The Order wasn't sure this was wisest decision—she was young and still an unofficial member and she certainly had her own problems to focus her attentions on—but they held their tongues.

Snape had smoldered in the corner, disapproving entirely but not willing to voice his objections. It was odd, Dumbledore's acquiescence.

One would think he knew about their private lessons.

And so the week resumed, as did their lessons, normally only now, they had something to work towards, a tangible goal. And Hermione was thankful for that much, at least. It was nice to have a goal on the horizon and a deadline closing in on them. It prompted Snape to challenge her like he might not have if the timeline allowed it.

But with this news came an onslaught of fresh fear that Hermione tried so hard to smother. It was stupid, really—nothing new had happened, not to her directly. And yet, she couldn't shake the tremors that rattled her nightly, nor the visions that haunted her, whether conscious or otherwise.

Presently, Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slipped into the pair of boots she kept by her bed in case of emergency. She clutched her wand and bid Ginny a restful remainder of the night, promising to head straight to the Hospital Wing for a batch of Dreamless Sleep but having no such intention.

Instead, she took to wandering the halls, which was sheer impropriety she rarely allowed herself. She'd broken more rules than she could count in her seven years at Hogwarts, but they seldom included roaming the halls after hours. It was a simple misdemeanor that had an innocent rebellion to it.

As she neared the dungeons, she wondered vaguely how she got there, or long it had taken her. Shrugging to herself, and then feeling ridiculous for doing so, she trudged forth and felt increasingly more daring the closer she drew to Snape's office. That sense of devilishness evaded her when she saw the door was ajar, and the light was on. It was nearly three. He had no business being up. Which could only mean one thing.

He was returning from a summons.

They'd been coming so frequently as of late that Snape was interrupted nearly every night. Hermione approached wearily, wand aloft, and paused outside the door. At the sound of gasping, all rationale fled and she charged the office.

For years to come, Hermione would thank whatever unearthly force drew her to the office that night. It took her a few moments to locate her Potions professor, who lay crumpled on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

"Professor?" she cried, before blasting her stupidity. Of course he wouldn't answer—there was enough blood on the floor for several transfusions.

She covered the distance between them as quickly as her sleep-deprived legs would allow and collapsed to her knees beside him. The blood was cold, nearly congealing beneath her and she wondered how long he'd been lying here helplessly.

Hermione flipped Snape onto his back gingerly and tore off his soaked outer robes. His formerly white buttoned shirt was now the purest of reds and she tore at that, too, looking for the abrasions.

She found them.

Along his stomach was a series of horrendously deep cuts. Hermione counted five in total and the horridly dark part of her mind made the connection to the scraping of fingernails.

Snape lay still as stone and Hermione frantically felt for a pulse. She willed herself to breath when she felt one—it was weak, but it was there. At a loss for what else to do, Hermione screamed, "Accio dittany!" more loudly than intended, but it got the job done. A vial of it landed in her hand and she applied it generously to his wounds. They stitched themselves together but they were so deep, it took nearly half the vial to close completely.

Even still, he'd lost a tremendous amount of blood. Hermione tried to Renervate him several times to no avail. Finally, she elevated him into the Floo before stepping in behind him.

"Hospital Wing," she cried.

As they were lifted and spun and compressed on all sides, the thought crossed her mind that now, at least, she had new fodder for nightmares.

**Author's Note: Please review everyone! I love reviews almost as much as Christmas, which I love a lot.**


	18. Armed and Ready

Hermione sputtered as the dust infiltrated her lungs upon landing. She managed kept a tight grasp on the wand that levitated Snape. Startled gasps sounded at their sudden entrance and the debris cleared enough so that Hermione saw several students huddled in beds, upright and panting.

Skirting around them, Hermione abandoned all respect and beat on Madame Pomfrey's door, despite the hour. It took merely minutes—she was used to this—before she emerged, disgruntled but otherwise alert. She took in the predicament in front of her and before Hermione had managed to open her mouth, Pomfrey transferred the levitation to her own wand and settled Snape in a private sector.

As she pulled the curtain tight for privacy, she murmured, "Get the Headmaster," before disappearing behind it.

Hermione needn't be told twice. It wasn't until she was halfway there, stumbling over her own frozen limbs, that she surmised the Floo would've been a better idea, but she'd already come this far. She spent several moments rattling off the dozens of candies the Headmaster was keen on setting as his password before striking luck with, "Pumpkin pastries."

She burst through the door, and momentarily wondered where respect had fled to that night before she set eyes on the Headmaster and all but the present was ignored. He sat fully robed, brandy in hand, seemingly awaiting a visit but when his eyes widened at the sight of her, she guessed it wasn't her he'd been expecting.

Without missing a beat, Dumbledore rose, wand aloft, and murmured, "Severus?"

Hermione clutched her heaving chest. "Hospital Wing," she panted.

Dumbledore nodded and ushered her to the Floo and for the second time in the span of twenty minutes, Hermione felt the world around her swoop. The first thing they were aware of as they landed was Pomfrey's vehement cursing, and it filled Hermione with a formidable dread. She allowed the Headmaster to rush before her, but kept close to his heels.

Pomfrey had disrobed the Potions professor and was now roving her wand over his abrasions like a metal detector searching for gold. The wounds had stopped bleeding but the cuts were so deep, Hermione vaguely wondered if they'd nicked anything vital.

"Was it you who found him, Miss Granger?" Pomfrey spoke up suddenly, not taking her eyes off her patient.

"Err—uh, yes, it was." Hermione waited for the verbal lashing that usually accompanied being out of bed past curfew, and was thus surprised at Pomfrey's reaction.

"Essence of Dittany, I'm guessing?"

Hermione nodded, but then realized the Medi-witch wasn't looking anywhere near her and muttered, "Yes, it was."

Pomfrey nodded and at this, she raised her eyes. "Good work, girl."

Hermione fought the inappropriate swell of pride because, while she may have stopped the bleeding, it didn't change the fact that the man in question was still lying before them thoroughly unconscious.

It was Dumbledore, instead, who took to the subject of her disobedience. When he saw there was nothing to be done other than the Medi-witch's mending, he conjured two chairs and ushered Hermione into one. "Why, pray tell, were you out of bed at such an hour, Miss Granger?"

From Snape, it would've been an admonishment but from the Headmaster, it came as genuine concern for her acting out of character.

"Oh," Hermione murmured uncomfortably, "I don't know, I…couldn't sleep." She chose her words carefully, but Dumbledore read through the lines anyway.

"You're talking of the night terrors Severus has warned me of," the Headmaster murmured benignly.

Hermione set her jaw and made a mental note to have it out with Snape once he recovered, but resigned herself to merely nodding. "That'd be them, yes."

Dumbledore furrowed his brow. "Severus is under the impression that the night terrors were slowing considerably. Is he wrong with that assumption?"

Hermione shrugged. "They had been…until recently."

An unspoken thought passed between them, and Dumbledore quickly made the connection. "Ah, yes," he murmured sadly, "the infiltration of the Ministry."

Hermione nodded. She turned to Dumbledore then. "He was called to a mission, wasn't he? You were waiting for him to report back to you."

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "The amount he's been summoned lately, I should've expected something was up. I can only imagine what went wrong to have resulted so disastrously."

Hermione nodded, watching Pomfrey wearily. The Medi-witch was slowing; methodically, she was applying a salve of some sort, undoubtedly brewed by Snape's own hand, onto the wounds that were torn into his torso. His breathing was shallow, and all too irregular to comfort any of them.

And so, an hour passed. As did another half. Hermione's head was drooping, and it was nearing time for classes, when a deep, shuddering breath sounded from the gurney. Instantly, all thoughts of sleep were driven away and Hermione and Dumbledore were on their feet.

Snape lay gasping for several long seconds before his eyelids fluttered. For a moment, he seemed thoroughly uncertain of his surroundings. He made to sit up, but Pomfrey clamped a hand firmly to his shoulder and pushed him back down.

"Don't you dare," she snapped. "You'll lie here until I tell you otherwise."

It was a testament to how truly out of sorts the surly Potions professor was when he merely obeyed her command and kept his silence.

"Severus?" the Headmaster questioned gently.

Snape's gaze landed on Hermione and lingered for a moment before settling on Dumbledore.

"She isn't safe," he breathed. "Arm the castle. They're coming."

**Author's Note: So sorry it took so long, and so sorry this one is so short. It's finals week, and University leaves nothing in the realm of free time. If you review, I shall love you.**


	19. Atonement

Hermione allowed a moment for the world around her to crash down, for her senses to explode, for her eyes to leak tears if they absolutely must—though they didn't—until she composed herself. In reality, her active mind had shifted into gear the moment the words left his mouth. The professors, contradictorily, seemed frozen.

"How much time have we got?" she heard herself ask and thanked Merlin that at the very least, her voice didn't quaver.

Snape cast his pained gaze upon her and something disturbingly close to pity, to hopelessness, twisted his face. "The better part of an hour, at the very most."

Dumbledore plopped unceremoniously into the chair beside Snape's bed, looking suddenly every minute of his advanced age. Madame Pomfrey hmph'd and took it upon herself to rouse the rest of the staff.

Freed from her scrutinizing stare, Snape righted himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The blood coloring his formerly white shirt looked grim and foreboding and he looked far too pale to be moving.

Hermione pushed her concerns for his immediate health out of her mind and focused on his pronouncement. "Is that enough time to persuade them not to come?"

Snape cocked an eyebrow and in a condescending tone he hadn't used with her in months, he asked, "And how, pray tell, do you propose we do _that_? Discuss it over afternoon tea and ask them nicely?"

Hermione mimicked him, cocking an eyebrow of her own. "If you think that'll work, that's your prerogative. I was thinking something more along the lines of luring them away from the school."

Snape and Dumbledore exchanged a look of confusion and they each came to the conclusion that they didn't like where this was headed. "What is your plan, Miss Granger?" Snape inquired.

Hermione stood to full height and prepared herself for the inevitable argument. "You said they were after me." When Snape nodded, she said, "Nothing like live bait."

Immediately, the men before her erupted. By this time, Madame Pomfrey had returned and she, too, interjected. Hermione folded her arms and waited for the tantrum to die down. Behind her, she heard the harried, frantic footsteps of the rest of the Professors and when they were filled in on her plan, they, too, had plenty to say.

After several moments of this, Hermione held up her hands. "This bickering is getting us nowhere," she snapped, surprised by the power in her voice. "Now, you've all got two choices. You can help me, or you can watch me flounder on my own." She spun slowly during her speech, facing each Professor in turn. "Because we all know that if there is any chance that my absence from this school will save its students, I will be gone within the hour. With or without your help. I'll not have innocent people, _kids_, dying because of me." She emphasized the last bit, punching every word. She watched as the professors exchanged nervous, knowing she'd nearly won.

She turned to Snape and turned up every bit of charm she possessed, knowing he saw right through it but at that moment, not truly caring. "If I left now, right now, would you have time to alert Voldemort—" she suppressed a shudder, "—of my departure?"

Snape stood then, unsteadily but determinedly, and narrowed his eyes. "Hogwarts is now the safest place in the world."

She narrowed her eyes right back. "I'm not asking you to join me."

His eyes widened out of surprise and—Hermione didn't want to believe it—hurt. "You know that's not what I meant. Leaving this school, for _you_, would be a suicide mission, Miss Granger." He emphasized her proper title with a bite she didn't quite like.

Hermione softened. She'd apologize for that later. "Would you have time?"

He studied her carefully, trying momentarily to beseech her common sense with his eyes. After several moments, he sighed the sigh of the thoroughly exhausted and withdrew his wand, touching the tip to his mark. "Collect your necessities, and meet me by the main staircase in ten minutes," he snapped. "And I'll not be the man to inform your parents of your death, because it is now inevitable."

Hermione shrugged. "Isn't it always?"

Before anyone could say another word, she cast a glance on the people that practically raised her, the faces she may truly never see again before turning on heel and taking the stairs two at a time. She didn't have time to dwell on sentimentality. She bolted through the Gryffindor common room like the hem of her robes were on fire and more quickly than she ever thought possible, she stuffed everything within a ten foot radius into a duffel bag. She fought the sudden rush of tears as she kissed Crookshanks goodbye and laid him to rest on the foot of Ginny's bed. The girl, who had quickly become her most trusted girl friend as of late, was sleeping soundly, totally unaware of the mayhem occurring just downstairs.

Hermione left before she could change her mind. As a last thought, she scrawled a quick explanation letter to Harry and Ron which she left under the cushions of one of their three favorite overstuffed armchairs. She wiped away those stubborn tears in frustration and collected her duffel before leaving the Gryffindor common room for what was sure to be the last time.

Snape was tapping his foot in front of the staircase like he'd been waiting half an hour rather than two minutes. The Headmaster stood beside him, looking both grave and resigned. When she reached them, Snape took her bag wordlessly and was out the door in a matter of moments. Hermione rolled her eyes at his immaturity and instead focused her attentions on Dumbledore, who smiled at her sadly.

"I have no doubt that you can protect yourself, Miss Granger," he said sincerely, clapping her shoulder. "You are certainly the brightest witch in your year." His smile waned and he shook his head, dismayed at their misfortune. "Good luck, my dear. Severus has specific instructions on where to take you, and I'll be by once I can be sure there will be no attack on this school today."

Hermione nodded, fearing she couldn't manage much more than that, before following Snape out the door. He stood just beyond the gates, his arms folded tightly, his face drawn. Hermione joined him wordlessly and as they joined hands, the world around them spun and jolted until they were thrown from the grounds which, for the past seven years, she had called home. Hermione caught her last grim glimpse of the castle before her world was distorted and they were compressed by air on all sides. Just as she thought she truly couldn't stand anymore, they collapsed on a field that smelled freshly mowed.

Hermione pulled herself to her knees, gasping for air. She looked at Snape, who seemed to be struggling to sit up properly, and attempted to assist him. He spared her a menacing glance before jerking his arm away forcefully. "I don't need anymore of your help," he spat and somehow, it sounded more like an accusation than a statement.

Hermione held her hands up in mock surrender and sighed. That one was going to be fun to sort out.

He lugged her duffel bag into what appeared to be a tiny stone cottage without bothering to see if she followed. Which she refrained from doing, for a moment. Instead of dealing with the moody man she was now expected to lodge with, she took in their current surroundings and wondered where he'd taken her.

The sun was just rising over a hilly horizon. Across the hills, bright dandelions shone. They appeared to be the only residents for miles, and the tiny stone cottage at once appeared both endearingly secluded and insufferably lonely, especially since her present roommate seemed to be less than thrilled with their predicament.

Hermione sighed and reasoned that she'd put off entering long enough. She gathered every pluck of courage she had and ascended the several stone steps leading to the bright red door. Snape was nowhere in the immediate vicinity, so Hermione shrugged and took to exploring. To the direct left was a cozy living room with just enough furniture to fill it. Against the far back wall stood a pure white sofa, across from which was a matching love seat. The adjacent wall sported a delightful fireplace which was already roaring. On the mantle were framed pictures which looked like they hadn't been dusted in years.

Hermione was drawn closer to them. She blew the dust away and wiped the faces of the frames clear so that the pictures they displayed shone through. Each of them depicted a small boy with lank black hair that hung in curtains around his sallow cheeks. The boy, it seemed, never smiled. His eyes were dark and frighteningly dead for someone so young. He sat on the lap of a woman who couldn't have been anyone but his mother. Her equally dark hair was pulled back and away in a severe bun; it was streaked with gray. Her face was pulled tight, but its wrinkles were just visible. Her face, too, was unsmiling and she had a very firm grip on her son's forearms.

"Ah, yes," Snape drawled from just behind her, "you've found the family treasures."

Hermione spun around like a kid who'd been caught sneaking from the cookie jar even though she hadn't done a thing wrong. The pictures had been on display!

To ease the tension, she cleared her throat. "Was this your family home?"

Snape scoffed, and side-stepped around to her to access a bar she hadn't noticed till then. He poured himself a glass of scotch without so much as offering her a sip of water before answering. "Hardly. It was our summer home. We resided, primarily, in England."

He saw her open her mouth to interject but rolled his eyes and continued before she could. "We are currently in Lyon. It is just south of Paris. For now," he murmured, "we are safe."

With that, he made to depart from the living room entirely.

"Professor," she called after him. He halted, but didn't turn. She set her jaw. "Look, I'm not your favorite person. I get that; I'm fine with that. I didn't mean to insult you earlier—" she saw his back tense, "—but I meant what I said. I'm not asking you to risk your life as well. You've helped me this far. No one would blame you if you were to return to Hogwarts and not look back."

Perhaps it was the sincerity in her voice that made him turn…she'd never know. All she did know was that he spun, slowly and surely, to face her. He clutched his glass so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

"Let me make myself plain, Miss Granger," he practically growled. "I think what you did was incredibly stupid. I also think you've adopted far too much of Potter's sentimentality. I would implore you to see reason if I thought it would help, because the instant you hold no regard for your own safety is the instant you become vulnerable, but I know it's a moot point."

Hermione bit her lip and hated the tears that threatened to spill. She'd shown incredible strength for months, now was not the time to be weak.

At the sight of her distress, however, Snape lightened. "Though I may not agree with your decision," he said softly, "I certainly understand it."

Hermione glanced up hopefully. "You do?"

He sighed and downed the scotch in one gulp before moving to the sofa and beckoning her to him. "Sit," he murmured. When she'd obeyed, he said, "The urge to put others before yourself, while definitely stupid, is also admirable. And incredibly human, and this understandable." He reached out tentatively and took her hand. "As for your suggestion, I'm insulted that you'd think I'd abandon you."

Hermione studied him. "It's not your job anymore, Professor."

He furrowed his brows in confusion.

Hermione sighed. "For months, you've been atoning for what happened. And don't argue, I know it's true. And I just want you to know…" She looked at her hands, searching for the words. "Well, you don't owe me anything. You aren't in my, or anyone's, debt. I daresay you've more than served your punishment for whatever you might've done in the past, and it's time you acknowledge that."

Snape took a deep, calming breath. "At first, it's true: I felt a duty to you, and to the Headmaster. I felt, not the desire, but the need, to protect you. I'd harmed you in what I consider the most brutal way possible, and it was only fitting that I put much of my energy into protecting you from anything else that might harm you."

Hermione nodded and made to speak, but he spoke over her. "But that's only how it started, Miss Granger—Hermione. Before long, it had somehow stopped being my duty and started being my…well, my choice. I wanted to protect you. Needed to, even. You may not think you're my favorite person, as you so eloquently say…but believe me, Hermione, you are damned close to it."

Hermione glanced up in what can only be termed utter shock. Snape, too, was out of breath and seemed surprised by his own announcement. But he set his jaw and nodded, as if to say he was standing by his statement.

Hermione's face, involuntarily, broke into an immense smile. "Thank you, Professor—Severus. That certainly means a lot to me."

And for perhaps the first time in her memory, Snape's mouth spread into a wide and genuine smile. "You are quite welcome, Hermione."

**Author's Note: PLEASE REVIEW! Happy holidays and a very happy new year to you all.**


	20. Un Passé Sombre

The Parisian sun was setting just over the hills beyond the window, casting a warm orange on the living room. They'd taken the rest of the afternoon to outline their plans and debate about what plan of action was wisest. It wasn't until Snape cracked his neck and stretched his back muscles that they'd noticed the sun had set.

"What do you say we catch dinner in the city tonight?" he asked.

Hermione glanced up, her honey eyes wide. "You mean…dinner in Paris?"

Snape suppressed the smile that erupted at her naïve excitement. "That is precisely what I mean."

Her face lit up momentarily, before her smile faltered. "Well…I mean, I'd love to, but I haven't exactly got loads of money on me. I should really write to my parents and—"

She was cut off by Snape's impolite snort. She cocked an eyebrow as he spoke. "Come now, Hermione, did you really think I'd allow you to pay?"

She furrowed her brow and set her jaw. "None of that chivalrous macho crap, I can certainly pay my own way."

Snape laughed, but shook his head. "Please, Hermione. Allow me to treat you. Just the once."

Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that he would most certainly not stop at paying once, but chose, for a brief moment, to simply allow it. "Well, all right. Thank you, Severus."

Snape nodded deeply and ignored the curious flutter in his stomach when she voiced his first name. "Well, then, I'll allow you to unpack and change into something less conspicuous. Remember, we're in hiding—it is vital that we blend in."

Hermione nodded and searched for her bag for a moment, frowning when she failed to locate it. Snape sauntered from the room but at the last moment, he muttered, "It's in your room—up the stairs, first door on your right."

She rolled her eyes and laughed to herself; that was entirely too characteristic of him. She collected herself and ascended the deep mahogany staircase. Lining the walls were countless framed photographs but none of them depicted smiling faces. Hermione got the distinct impression that this hadn't been a home filled with cheer.

Setting aside her sympathy for Snape for the moment—he _did_ have a summer home, it couldn't have been all bad—Hermione gently turned the knob on what was apparently her room. She was astounded by the sight that met her.

If ever a room had been painted in gold, it was the one she was staring at. The moldings across the tops of the walls were carved and ornate like those mansions showcased in the tours her parents were constantly dragging her to. The floor was hidden by a plush, deep red carpet she immediately kicked her shoes off to bury her toes in it. Set in the far wall was a grand, brick fireplace which was already roaring. The bed was opposite it, draped in a pure white feather duvet with deep red pillows atop it. Encasing the bed was a luxurious mosquito netting. There was an adjoining bathroom, which itself was bigger than the entire Gryffindor girl's dormitory. Hermione decided she'd probably never been in a more lavish bedroom in her life.

Hermione shook her head to clear it; she'd rather not feel like a tourist in the house she'd be spending an indeterminable amount of time. Instead, she withdrew her wand and sent her clothing into their respective drawers. She deposited her toiletries into the marble-tiled bathroom and finally got to dressing for the evening.

There, she paused. How formal should she go? He'd told her to be inconspicuous, but that was as far as the instructions extended. Hermione shrugged and figured, since they were to dine in Paris, she may as well take advantage of an opportunity that may never come again. With that in mind, she withdrew her favorite little black dress which had gold thread weaved throughout to accent it. It reached the middle of her thighs, but it was the top of the dress she loved best. One shoulder was completely bare. The other sported a full length sleeve. She felt extravagant, even famous, whenever she wore it, and truly, what kind of girl doesn't like _that_?

She pulled on a pair of black high-heeled ankle boots and then sat at her vanity to apply a little makeup. She hardly ever wore any, but her mother had taught her how to apply it a few summers ago should she ever have the need to dress up a little. She'd have to remember to thank her for that.

Her skin was flawlessly clear—it was one of her best features, and even she had to admit it. So she forwent foundation and instead picked up a mascara wand. She roved it over the lashes of each eye a few times and then picked up the eyeliner. Next was the dark gold eye shadow, which she hoped pick up on the gold in her dress. And finally, she dabbed a clear lip gloss on her already full lips.

She tousled her light honey hair so that it was cascading in waves around her shoulders before rising and standing before the mirror. She appraised her look—saw how the makeup, as light as it was, truly highlighted her features. She saw how the dress clung to her butt just the right way.

Well, it was her favorite for a reason.

With an affirmative nod, she was ready and she shrugged into her warm, black peacoat and tucked her wand away before heading for the stairs. Snape was waiting for her patiently at the landing. He smiled when he heard her footsteps, but froze when he saw her coming towards him.

He was quite sure his jaw dropped like one of those preposterous American cartoons as he took in the tight, but classy, dress that clung to her beneath her coat. Her legs were surprisingly tanned and toned from where they poked out from beneath her attire. Her hair fell in waves and begged his fingers toward it, and her eyes were alight with a happiness he hadn't seen in months.

"You look absolutely…" he began, and then stopped himself, appalled at what he'd almost revealed. "Muggle," he finished unceremoniously.

Hermione crinkled her brow, because she could tell he'd just swallowed the real word he'd wanted to say. She just couldn't put her finger on what it was. "As do you," she said, her eyes roving over his crisp white button-down and his pressed black slacks.

Snape slipped into a Muggle sport's jacket before holding his arm out to her and smiling. "Shall we?" he asked.

She smiled and accepted his proffered arm. Together, they walked to the edge of the grass before turning to face each other. He withdrew his wand and for the second time in two hours, they spun and the world around them compressed and strangled the air from their lungs. When they landed in what proved to be a deserted alleyway, Snape gasped and clung to the wall to keep himself steady. He hadn't wholly healed from the state she'd found him in just last night and Hermione wondered briefly whether or not this was actually a good idea.

As if he could read her mind, Snape waved away her unvoiced thoughts. "I'm fine," he murmured predictably. "It's the stitches; they're quite uncomfortable."

Hermione rolled her eyes—she doubted very much that it was just the stitches—but held her tongue and followed him onto the streets of Paris. Nightlife here was in full swing. Lovers walked hand in hand, their heads bent toward each other. Classy French women dressed in black from head to toe took long drags off of the fags clutched in their fingers. Bits of French words flittered toward them from here and there and though she didn't understand a second of it, Hermione was delighted.

They ducked into a small place on a corner called Chez Maurice. Snape, in eloquent French that surprised Hermione although it shouldn't have, said to the Maitre d', "Bonsoir. J'aimerais un tableau pour deux, s'il vous plait."

The man nodded appreciatively at Snape's knowledge for the language as it was evident they were not natives, and led them to a both with dim, but appropriate, lighting. "Vos menus," the man said before departing.

Hermione glanced at the menu before panicking. She didn't know a word of French. She managed to work out that _porc_ was pork and _vin_ was wine, but _fromage? Poisson? Agneau?_ What in the world?

Snape too one look at the despair written across her face and burst into laughter. "What can I help you with?"

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Well, the whole menu, to start."

He laughed again and walked her through it. By the time the server arrived, Hermione was able to order her, "L'agneau avec un coté de legumes," or lamb with a side of vegetables, with very little trouble.

As the server thanked them and took their menus, Hermione folded her hands beneath her chin and studied the man across from her. "So when were you going to tell me your family is stinking rich?"

Snape laughed and raised his eyebrows. "I thought I'd let the house speak for itself. I take it everything is adequate?"

It was Hermione's turn to raise her eyebrows. "Adequate? The bathroom is bigger than Gryffindor common room. And this is your _second_ home? I can only imagine what your main home looked like?"

Snape smiled again, but this time it was a little grimmer than it was genuine. "It was certainly lavish, Hermione. But it was nothing but extravagance. I'd hardly call that a home."

Hermione frowned sympathetically. "I take it that it wasn't the happiest of places."

Snape shrugged. "Not many laughs echoed through those halls, that much is certain. My father saw to that. He had my mother wrapped around his finger and that woman, bless her heart, died trying to appease an unappeasable man. She devoted her life to an impossible task."

Hermione nodded. She'd never imagined what Snape's childhood had to have been like, but now that he painted the picture for her, she didn't like what she saw. "And you were an only child, then?"

Snape raised his eyes to meet hers, and Hermione caught a very deep, very real sorrow that disappeared as quickly as it appeared but was undeniably strong. "I am now, but I wasn't always."

Hermione swallowed. Hard. "What happened?"

Snape studied her, seeming to gauge how much to say. He sighed. "My sister, Victoria, was five years my junior and we were incredibly close growing up. My father was very keen on physical abuse as a form of discipline. Come to think of it, he liked it for persuasion, as well. Anyway, Victoria was his optimal target. He was a very sexist man and I was deemed safe because I was a man, like he. But, in his mind, Victoria was as worthless and abhorrent as my mother and should be treated as such."

Hermione gulped. "That's horrible. I'm sorry."

Snape nodded, but now seemed lost in his own story. "Society was so fooled by our wealth that they didn't see the bruises that always decorated my sister's arms, and often her face. A man with money, in those days, was a man with power and as such, a man without fault. They were wrong in that. My father was a man of innumerable faults." Snape's face darkened and Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear this.

"I tried my damndest to protect Victoria. She was a sweet girl, and brilliant, and her future was brighter than mine had ever been. But my protection did little to stem my father's brutality and one night, the belt he used on her won. He paid off an ME to say the cause of death was undetermined, but anyone with half a brain could see her purple skin showcased in that open casket."

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth in dismay, but Severus plowed on.

"It broke my mother's heart, and I'm sure it's what killed her almost exactly a year later. I was seventeen at that point and I was gone the day after her funeral. Last I heard, my father was shacked up with some Italian whore in Naples. His past doesn't bother him an inch; I'm sure he sleeps like a baby at night."

Hermione blinked away the tears that escaped for a family she didn't even know. "Severus, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

Snape glanced up and snapped back to reality. He smiled gently, benignly, but warmly. "It's in the past, Hermione. My sister is in a better place with my mother and I'm glad they no longer had to put up with my father's brutality. I've been around darkness all my life. It's what makes me a good spy. Despite how much I despise him, I owe my role in this war to my father. Without him, I'd never know how to mingle with scum."

He smiled at Hermione to let her know he was all right, and she considered what he'd said. It'd reminded her of the night's proceedings. "Severus, what happened at that meeting? You've not mentioned it since you've woken, and I think it's high time we talked about it."

He sighed, but nodded. "I was called to a meeting obviously, like I often am, but the air was different the instant I Apparated. It was a tension you could feel. And they'd waited for me to arrive." He raised his eyes. "Death Eaters don't wait for anybody."

Hermione nodded. "They discovered that you're a spy."

Snape nodded deeply.

Hermione frowned. "How?"

Snape shrugged. "I honestly don't know. It could've been anything; they could've planted a wire, had me followed, slipped someone a potion. Worst of all, it could be a weak link in the Order." Snape took a long sip from his wine. "We're trying incredibly hard to rule out that last one."

They paused their conversation as the waiter set down their meals. As soon as he walked away, Hermione said, "Regardless of how it happened, your alliance was revealed."

Snape nodded. "They were ready for me. In all honesty, I was unprepared. They ambushed me. And they spent the night teaching me a lesson."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "But then, they just let you go at the end?"

Snape shook his head. "I managed to get away—Lucius was using my own wand against me, and he turned his back when he thought I'd gone unconscious. I wrestled it from him and threw myself in the Floo."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Impressive."

Snape shrugged. "They'd been talking all night about their plans to invade the castle. They knew it would drive me crazy if I died knowing there was nothing I could do to save you—save the castle," he covered quickly.

Hermione suppressed a grin. "And now? Do you know what they'll do?"

Snape sighed. "Honestly? No. They'll track us, there's no doubt in that. But my home is fairly well guarded. I have hope for us."

Hermione smiled. "As do I."

They finished eating quickly and were out of the restaurant by eight o'clock. They Apparated back to the cottage from the same alley they Apparated into. Once they were in the front lawn, Hermione glanced up and was considering how bright the stairs were in the country sky just as Snape emitted a horrifying, guttural groan beside her.

Her head spun quickly, instinctively and she caught the last atrocious second of a figure in black wrestling Snape to the ground before a blindfold was slipped over her eyes and a punch was delivered to her gut. Her scream died in her throat as a knee collided with her temple and her world went hazy, and then black.

**Author's Note****: PLEASE REVIEW! Thanks to everyone who has already, they keep me going. **


	21. Play Things

Hermione guessed it was the frigidness of the stone floor biting at her bare legs and through her dress that woke her. Either that, or the splitting ache in her head. Regardless, she groaned into consciousness, a hand flying to her temple when the pain hit her.

"Ugh," she groaned—the light was dim and still, it nearly blinded her the instant she opened her eyes.

"Hermione!" The call came from the opposite side of…wherever they were.

Where was that, anyway? She glanced around once her eyes allowed it. It looked like a dungeon in Hogwarts, only barren and even colder. There was a window high up on the wall Hermione was currently trying to prop herself up against, but it was barred and impossibly small. There was a solitary lantern lit in the center of the room, and it was only that which illuminated Snape's very concerned face by the opposite wall.

"Hermione?" Severus repeated when she didn't respond, an unhealthy dose of worry tainting it.

Hermione finally managed to pull herself up enough so that she could lean against the wall she was chained to. "Sorry," she murmured, and realized for the first time how dry her throat was.

Snape adjusted his position and the chains binding his arms rattled. "Thank Merlin," he sighed. "You were out for so long, I thought surely you wouldn't wake."

Hermione furrowed her brow, but it hurt her head, so the blank mask returned. "I'm fine, I believe," she said with a small, comforting smile. It faded with the next question. "How long have we been here?"

Snape frowned. "I can't be sure exactly. I'm stiff—and I'm sure you are, too—and I've watched the sun rise and set three times. I think." He finished rambling and shrugged. "I don't know either, clearly."

Hermione's stomach growled almost painfully. "I know I haven't eaten, but have you?"

Snape's stomach answered her loudly. "No," he murmured.

And then came the most important, and dangerous, question of all. "How much trouble are we in?"

And Snape raised his head and didn't quite manage to chase the severity off with that blank mask before she saw. "We'll get out of here," he assured her with a sincerity that surprised even him.

"Don't insult my intelligence," Hermione said good-naturedly. "I want the truth; I think I've earned that much."

Snape sighed. "We're…not safe. I'm a traitor, and you're a Mudblooded whore—their words, not mine—and therefore, our prognosis isn't cheery. It was Lucius, primarily, who captured us. Since their departure some three days ago, nothing and no one has come nor gone."

Hermione nodded gravely. "Have you any idea how they found us?"

Snape shrugged. "I can only assume the wards weren't as strong on that cottage as they once were." He thought a moment. "Dumbledore will have noticed we've gone by this point. Though, I have little hope of rescue. They have no way of knowing where we are—hell, _I_ don't know where we are."

Hermione closed her eyes to hide the panic quickly boiling within her. "I have hope," she whispered, more for her benefit than for his, but it reached his ears regardless. "I have to."

Snape nodded sadly. "Understandable."

Hermione glanced down at her attire and remembered that pleasant night they'd shared before she awoke in Hell. The dress was dirtied by now and the glitter no longer shimmered in the light. Cold penetrated her from all sides quite uncomfortable. Her feet ached from days of being confined in high-heels, but she was grateful for them because she'd never trust bare feet on these grimy floors.

Her bare legs were an unfortunate exception.

She stretched her neck and noticed Snape was right: she was incredibly stiff. She glanced at him and his eyes darted away as if to try and convince her he hadn't just been staring. He, too, was still in his evening wear, only his had been bloodied. He'd torn his stitches, undoubtedly.

"I'm fine," he assured her when he caught her looking.

"Doesn't look like you're fine. It _looks_ like you could use a doctor," she replied hotly, though her aggravation wasn't directed at him.

"Well, no chance of that, is there?" he retorted.

Something about the hopelessness in his voice provoked tears in her eyes, desperate tears that she swiped angrily at despite how severely it made the chains rattle.

"How can this be happening? _Again_?" She spat the last word.

Snape sighed and seemed to momentarily forget his binds because he made to move towards her. When the chains halted him, he settled back and muttered, "I truly don't know. To call your situation unfair, I believe, would be an understatement."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "My situation? And I gather yours is an utter picnic."

Snape rolled his eyes skyward. "I, Hermione, am used to this life. It was not I who was raped merely months ago."

Hermione mimicked his eye roll, and scoffed. "Please, Severus—isn't the fact that you are, indeed, used to this life evidence that your plight has been the definition of unfair? And if I remember correctly—which we both know I do—you were every bit an unwilling participant as I was that night." She softened her tone, but he didn't like the fear that crept into it. "What'll we do? What's the best way to play this?"

Snape deemed it best to ignore her comments, for he nothing but disagreed, and instead asserted his attentions on her questions. "That all depends on how _they_ play it. It's possible they'll run this like an interrogation. That's how they've started, anyways—they let you sweat for days in the hopes that by the time they actually attempt to break you, you've crumbled into putty. In that case, we do our absolute damndest to keep silent, but I do warn you that that's easier said than done."

His face was too dark, and Hermione gulped involuntarily. "Meaning they'll stop at nothing to retrieve information, if that's what they're after."

It wasn't a question, but Snape nodded regardless.

Hermione nodded with him, and resigned herself mentally. "And that's what you think they're after? Information?"

Snape furrowed his brow at this, and shifted. "There, I am uncertain. It is true that they've begun like any other interrogation, but I can't imagine what they hope to garner from us."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "You've just been revealed as a secret double agent and I'm particularly chummy with the Boy Who Lived—and you can't imagine the sorts of questions they'll ask us? Did you hit your head, too?"

Snape actually laughed at this, truly and genuinely laughed. "Well, all right, I know what it is they'll be asking. But I can't imagine, after all we've been through collectively, they're really foolish enough to think we're that weak." His eyes darkened, but this time it was with confidence and pride. "I've been in this for years, I'm quite obviously willing to die for this. And you've surmounted what has previously been deemed insurmountable and not only didn't you reveal me as a bargaining chip, you came out on top." He furrowed his brow. "To question us is a waste of time, and a foolish one at that. These men are many, _many_ things but stupid isn't one of them."

Hermione nodded. "It's true, I can't exactly see them wasting time bargaining with us." She wracked her mind and wasn't keen on the remaining options. "Which means…"

Snape looked up and wished for the hundredth time that there wasn't a span of twenty feet separating them. "Which means we're more than likely just means to an end."

"Something to play with before ridding of." Hermione cursed the very words that passed her lips, but she couldn't deny the truth that was laced in them.

"Precisely." Hermione's head shot up because the voice wasn't the one she'd been expecting. It was cold and filled her with a trepidation she hadn't felt in months.

Lucius Malfoy certainly had a way of chilling her bones.

**Author's Note: Bless winter break, it allows me to update immensely quicker. Anyways, please review and I shall love you-and rest assured, I will not torture Hermione any longer. This cliffy is evil, I know. I don't know what it is, I'm addicted to them. But I think it's time to give this girl a little bit of strength...what do you say?**


	22. Stupidity

Hermione's heart skipped a beat and she screamed to herself that it wasn't real, even as she watched the hem of his robes kiss the ground.

"Get the fuck away from here," Snape cursed, and Hermione knew it had to be real because not even in her wildest dreams could she imagine Snape cussing.

Lucius drew his wand nonchalantly and aimed it at Snape who gasped when a gash was torn into his cheek. "Do try and collect yourself, Severus. You haven't much ground to trample on anymore." Malfoy's voice was cold and calculating with an uncomfortable amount of humor in it.

As he spoke, he closed the space between him and Hermione quickly.

Hermione quivered and hated even that small revelation of weakness. She gritted her teeth and forced her eyes to meet his.

Lucius smiled and spoke over Snape's pitiful arguing being spewed from across the room. "Hello there, love. I must say, you look a shade better now than the last time I saw you."

His eyes scoured her bare legs while he licked his lips provocatively. Hermione ignored her churning stomach and tucked her legs beneath her as best as possible. "I might say the same to you," she spat, proud that her voice didn't quaver. "Lust and desperation just aren't your colors." She gave him a once over before declaring, "On second thought, I can't come up with a color that _would_ suit you."

He laughed, but his eyes darkened and she wasn't fooled. So, I'll just be sticking with what I know best. Don't you agree?" He fingered the button on his trousers tauntingly.

This time, her stomach churned violently, and painfully, since it was empty.

"I swear on your life, Lucius, you will not touch her if you know what's good for you," Snape bellowed. He was positively seething. He actually looked quite dangerous and Hermione knew she'd be afraid of him if she was in Lucius's shoes.

The latter, though, appeared nothing more than perturbed. He swooped down to crouch beside Snape, just out of reach.

"Well, well, Severus, do I detect a budding romance?" Lucius mocked, cocking an eyebrow.

Snape did nothing but spit in the man's repulsive face.

The only indication that Lucius noticed Snape's assault was when he wiped himself clean. Otherwise, he remained calm. His voice, however, was a different story.

"I don't really think you're in the position to be making demands, Severus, do you?" His voice was positively dripping with malice. He ground his boot into the now open wounds on Severus's stomach, pushing him back against the wall and eliciting a snarl, before straightening. "As it so happens, it is not I that wishes to speak with the girl, but the Dark Lord. I'll return your little whore after he's finished with her."

With a flick of his wand, the links chaining Hermione to the wall severed and landed in his hand. "Maybe if you're good," he sneered, "we'll be able to…play…later."

He yanked her to her feet and dragged her to his side. She chanced a glance at Snape and she had never seen him so worried, so frantic.

And then the door was slammed shut between them.

-BREAK-

The door slammed, leaving Severus to rot in the same cell he'd occupied for three days. This time, however, it was down an occupant.

Snape beat against his binds like they'd deteriorate with time. He frowned when they didn't. He sank back down to the ground but his mind was set whirring.

This couldn't be happening, not again. The Dark Lord never wanted just a word—he invariably coupled it with rape or torture or, God forbid, murder. That poor girl. She knew how to handle herself—she'd come to Snape with immense raw talent and he the taught her how to hone her abilities, to maximize them. That would be no help, though, without a wand.

Snape let his head hang. The fear in her eyes as she'd exited had been heart-wrenching. She had shown remarkable strength in the past, that was true, but how many people would be able to withstand much more? Hell, he didn't think he'd be able to handle much more. He cracked his neck and sighed. When would this nightmare end?

Snape thought of Lucius's "whore" comment and burned with anger. Hermione Granger was many things—brave, smart, even beautiful—but whore was not one of them.

He caught himself. Beautiful? Lucius's first remark came to mind. He immediately pushed the thought to the dredges of his mind. She was his student—his young, bright, and markedly tortured student. He had no right defiling her good name in his mind.

No matter how natural it felt.

Snape gasped internally. What in Merlin's name had gotten into him? Cut off from civilization for three days and plagued by worry, he turned downright animalistic.

His mind was wiped clear of nothing but fear, however, when a screech sounded in the distance.

-BREAK-

Lucius yanked on Hermione's chain and nearly sent her tumbling. She did her best to keep up; she didn't need bloody knees on top of everything.

And that everything included coming face to face with the man who killed countless men and women for the second time in a matter of months. She noticed she seemed to be thinking and taking note of everything _but_ what they were walking towards; she noticed the dim light in the halls lit by lanterns strung up high towards the ceilings, the cold as it increased the further down they went, even Lucius's stiff back and split ends. Those were numerous, though, he should really use conditioner.

Hermione wondered if this was some kind of defense mechanism. Currently, they spiraled down a stone staircase with windows interspersed and though she tried to force her mind to think of options, think of defensive strategies, it constantly wandered to the expanse outside the window and was trying to decide where they were.

That couldn't really hurt, she surmised.

She wondered vaguely if she wasn't coming up with strategies because she knew, in reality, none would help. She was quite literally bound and chained and was as wandless as a Muggle. They could do with her what they pleased, and she had no doubt that she would.

A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold air.

Finally, they came to a set of double doors. A guard stood, wand at the ready and mask in place, in front but stepped aside when Lucius approached. Hermione got the distinct impression she was to wait there as he disappeared behind wood.

Hermione eyed the guard nervously, and he seemed to do the same to her. "How's it going, Granger?" he muttered almost nonchalantly.

Draco Malfoy always did have his father's misplaced arrogance.

Hermione rolled her eyes and plucked up every ounce of bravery that ran through her blood. She cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, it's just peaches from my end, Malfoy. And you? Your wardrobe is looking decidedly," she contemplated the word, "…grimmer these days, no?"

Draco glanced down at his own all-black attire and scoffed, though she could tell it had hit a nerve. He always did have the self-confidence of an awkward teenage girl. "Very funny, Mudblood. Although I do believe it is I brandishing the wand and you brandishing the binds." His lips curled into a sneer that was identical to his father's and for a moment, the same hatred that pulsed through her veins at the sight of Malfoy senior was churned at the sight of his son.

And then, he softened. Hermione would've attributed that to dim lighting or tired eyes, but his words only backed up her sight. "Look, Granger—when you're in there, just shut up for once, will you?"

His words were harsh, but from him, that was downright endearment. "Why, Draco, do my ears deceive me or are you trying to help?"

He ignored her goading and continued. "I've been in there, standing before them all, and it isn't a picnic. And _I_ was an ally." He gulped, but tried to mask it. "I can't imagine what they have in store for you."

Hermione straightened as best she could with the chains weighing on her limbs, but considered him for a moment. "You actually _are_ trying to help."

Draco shrugged, and his arrogance reared its ugly head. "Yeah, well…don't get used to it. I just don't want to clean up the mess they would surely make if you prove to be insolent."

Hermione clenched her jaw and heard the warning in his haughty statement, and nodded. Draco returned the gesture and promptly shut his mouth. And what good timing, too, for it was then that the wooden door swung wide, revealing Malfoy senior.

Lucius nodded to his son, who mimicked him. Hermione wondered vaguely if that was the only sign of affection to ever pass between them and as soon as she thought it, she knew she was right. How sad.

All concern for others wash pushed to the back burner, however, when Lucius snatched the chains connected to her wrists and pulled with all his strength. He'd caught her off guard, and therefore she was sent tumbling into a circle of men and women draped in black with skull masks. All of them, that is, except for the apparent ringleader, who looked remarkably more snakelike than he did man.

Hermione collected herself from the grimy floor and didn't miss the stains of dried blood that marked it. As she made to get up, a flick of Voldemort's wand had her bending so low, she was nearly kissing the ground.

"You will show respect in my presence," he hissed, "and that entails bowing."

Hermione opened her mouth to curse his demands, but the eyed blood staring at her and Draco's warning echoing in her ears ensured that she pursed her lips tight and nodded.

"Ah, very good," the Dark Lord murmured. "We're learning."

With that, he released his magical hold on her, and she was sent gasping. As she righted herself, he swooped down from his perch on what appeared to be an outdated altar and made his way towards her like pace was not a concern. When he was low enough, he crouched so they were eye level and they were so close that she could feel the puffs of cold air every time he took a break. "I hope you find your lodgings…adequate."

He was goading her, but she would _not_ take the bait. "Perfectly adequate."

She saw his jaw clench tightly, but his lips stretched into a smile. "Happy to hear." He rose and paced the floor before her. He must've made some kind of motion that meant something to the rest of the Death Eaters, because they closed in ranks around them. Hermione unconsciously hugged her arms to herself as best she could, but straightened admirably.

"Now, Hermione, you know as well as I do that I am a man of business. And as such, I never act without absolute purpose." He spun on his heel and smiled down at her gruesomely. "Do you know what I mean?"

He spoke slowly, like she was incapable of comprehending normal speech, and it grated her ever-chaffing nerves. She cracked her neck and answered, "You mean to say that you've captured Severus and me for a reason. I'm willing to bet you're about to tell me what that reason is."

Voldemort laughed and it was a horrid sound. Like nails on a chalkboard. "They've always said you were the brightest in your year and now, I can believe them!" he mocked. "Very true, Hermione. There is a…a method to my madness, if you will." He drew himself to full height and looked down at her. "I would like very much to put that bright mind of yours to use."

Hermione cocked a brow. "I'm listening."

"Now, I'll present you with two options but you will, in time, see that there is truly only one viable option. Behind door number one," he hissed, and his followers erupted into giggles, "you have the option I recommend. You will reveal everything you know about the traitor Severus Snape and his affiliation with your blessed order. You will also hand us Harry Potter on a damned silver platter. In turn, you shall be rewarded." His tone grew colder and bitterer by the second, and his eyes flashed dangerously.

Hermione schooled her face into that blank mask Snape was so skilled at. She wasn't sure she was interested in any reward the Dark Lord was offering.

"Behind door number two is an option I'm sure none of us want," he murmured condescendingly. "Should you refuse, idiotically, you become mine. You remember so clearly our rendezvous just months ago; we will revisit, maybe even recreate, that night and I assure you, my dear, that you will not live to see morning." His snake lips turned up into a grimace that was supposed to be a smile, like he'd just offered her a lemon drop. "The choice is explicitly yours. And, of course, I am a merciful Lord. You have a day to think about it."

Hermione's heart was beating a little too fast for her liking, but she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Panicking would help nothing. She opened her eyes and narrowed them and decided to through all caution to the wind. "You can't really be that stupid."

If ever there was a murderous look, it was the one that passed across Voldemort's face.

Hermione pointedly ignored it and continued. "You have been trying for nearly 18 years now, haven't you, for someone to hand Harry to you. After 18 years, I'd have thought a man of your supposed caliber would've seen for himself that his endeavors are nothing but fruitless." With immense effort, Hermione rose to her feet and looked at Voldemort squarely. "Harry is surrounded by something that you will never have, and that is devoted allies. The beauty in that is that if you want him, you, and you alone, have to do the leg work. No one in this bloody world who has the knowledge about Harry that you seek will ever turn on him. It's called loyalty, and it's something you think you're familiar with but in reality, nothing has ever been so foreign. Except perhaps love, and even that's debatable."

An angry hum swept through the room, but Hermione quite easily spoke over them. "As for Severus, what else is there to know, truly? He swindled you, and quite masterfully at that. You who they say is a tremendous Legilimens was fooled, for _years_, by a man you deemed a servant. I do believe that says more about your stupidity than I ever could."

For the level of noise that arose at her pronouncement, you would've thought you'd stepped into the mosh pit. Hermione watched Voldemort grow positively murderous throughout the span of her speech and she knew that if he didn't so desperately need her help, she would've cold on the concrete all ready.

But he did need her help, so desperately it made him uncomfortable. And it was that which would ensure her life for at least the next twenty-four hours. And then?

Well, she'd deal with that in good time.

Hermione watched him carefully as he raised his wand and her stomach fell slightly. He wouldn't kill her yet, surely, but that didn't rule out torture.

"_Crucio_," he screeched, and she writhed in a pain that rivaled any she'd felt before. Her bones burned beneath her flesh, which itself felt like someone was taking a cheese grater to it.

The scream that escaped left her throat so raw, it may've been bleeding. Eventually, when she felt like she could no longer move, it stopped. Voldemort squatted beside her quivering form, and posed a question. "You have tasted what refusal is like. Are you sure you wouldn't like to rethink your answer?"

Her mind swam and her vision went alarmingly red, but she propped herself up on her elbows and looked him in the eye as best she could. "No, you see, I can see you're still stupid. I don't make deals with stupidity."

And a fire was set beneath her skin.

-BREAK-

Hours had passed, and the screams in the distance, from the bowels of whatever kind of structure they were trapped in, had barely stopped for a moment. Snape had quite literally made himself sick with worry. Spots colored his shirt from where he'd vomited bile, and the sweat that broke out on his forehead was now nearly painful in the cool night air.

Finally, blessedly, the wooden door was slammed open and a bundle of something was slammed haphazardly onto the stone floor before him. The bundle moved once, emitted a moan filled with pain, and was still as the door slammed shut again.

They hadn't bothered with Hermione's binds again this time—it wasn't like she could move, anyway. Snape fought so hard against his binds that his wrists were torn and bleeding.

"Hermione! No, Hermione!"

He quickly and expertly took in the state of her and was tremendously thankful that at the very least, all her clothes were in tact. She was sweaty and even a little bloody, but Snape thought that could be attributed to a lot of thrashing about on stone. As long as she hadn't been violated again, she could handle it. _He_ could handle it.

At long last, she turned to him with what appeared to be tremendous effort. Her face was paled and her lip was cut, and she peered through heavy lidded eyes in his direction.

"I have a day," she whimpered and gasped. "A day to decide whether or not to hand Harry, and you, to him."

Snape gulped. He knew, better than anyone, that Hermione Granger would never let a traitorous word pass her lips for as long as she lived. "Or?"

Her eyes darkened and she pursed her lip with difficulty. "I die."

**Author's Note: I envy strength like this! Maybe that's why I write about it. Please review, and trust me-she only gets stronger.**


	23. Fancy

Snape fought hard against the bile that burned his throat. Her answer didn't surprise him—hell, he'd expected it—but it still wasn't pleasant to hear.

He watched pathetically as she scrounged up the strength it took to properly sit up. Her battered body shook with the effort. She was panting lightly by the time she'd managed it and he loathed not being able to move. Her light toffee hair was strewn across her face, but her eyes burned with a determination he found very comforting. Her legs seemed uncooperative, but she managed to slowly and surely pull herself up beside him.

When she reached the wall, she very nearly collapsed against it; she leaned heavily against his arm and seemed not at all concerned by that fact. On second thought, neither did he. He used what little slack the shackles allowed him and tucked the stray locks of her behind her ears before wrapping an arm ever-so-gently around her rapidly bruising body.

"What'd you tell him?" he muttered against her hair.

She spat out a cackle that sounded quite painful on a throat that was raw from screaming. "I told him quite eloquently to sod off."

Snape actually laughed in spite of himself. "I quite admire your courage, however inadvisable it is," he murmured. His tone darkened, though, with his next statement. "You know, certainly, how grave our situation is."

He peered beside him and watched Hermione set her jaw. "I know," she whispered. "He wasted no time in enlightening me." She shuddered with the remnant tremors of the Cruciatus curse. But then she turned her eyes up at him and they flashed with a courage he hadn't encountered in years. "But he needs me. And he needs you. He knows that, and it scares him. He'll…play with us," she whispered, and her breath caught, but she did her best to hide it. "He'll bring us to the brink of death, even. But he won't kill us. Not yet."

Snape studied her carefully. She leaned against him for support, but otherwise sat strong and sure beside him. Her body had just been sent to hell and back, and yet her mind was now abuzz with making plans. He shook his head in admiration, and averted his eyes to the stone floor beside them.

"So what do you propose we do?"

She stiffened and shook her head. "We've got 24—err, 23—hours to decide how to proceed. And then, well…we hold on for as long as we can." It took every ounce of strength she possessed to keep her body from trembling. "He, err…he quite clearly spelled out what they'd do to me should I refuse. I'm not sure what sort of torture they have in store for you."

He understood the implication only too well. "I'm sure, Hermione, my torture lies within witnessing yours." His voice was thick and it surprised him. "I daresay that is a worse fate than anything they could do to me physically."

She considered him for a long time. "Worse than death?"

He snorted. "Compared to what they _could_—and would—do to me, death would be a sweet release. No, there are things far worse than death."

She cocked an eyebrow. "I tend to agree," she murmured, and her voice was immensely haunted. "But still, I'd rather we both walk out of this with our lives."

He nodded. "Hermione…I know that you know perfectly the method they will use to torture you, and I urge you to use these next few hours to prepare yourself mentally. But…well quite simply, can you handle it?"

She peered at him, and his eyes locked with hers so intensely she found it nearly impossible to look away. So she stopped trying, and instead leaned on the defiance that had backed her play well over the years. Her eyes burned into his right back. "I haven't got a choice, now do I?" He pulled away from her, hurt seeping into his gaze before he could smother it and she instantly softened. "Look—it's clearly not something I'm looking forward to, nor is it something I'd imagined I'd face again. But here it is, staring at me, and yes, I think I can handle it because I _have_ to handle it. I won't be weaker than them. I think that would feel worse."

Hermione reached a hand out tentatively and touched the skin around his wounds, which were now caked with dried blood. "It's actually you I'm quite worried about. You know he's angry, but he's always angry and from what I understand, he can usually control his temper for as long as he needs to. In this case, I think his anger might surpass his use for you."

Snape smirked mirthlessly and captured her roving fingers with his hand, resting them on his stomach. "I've been in this game far too long to be worried about my own well-being." It was all he could manage because if truth be told, he bloody well agreed with her and he neither wanted to admit that nor lie to her.

And it was in that position they rested for the better part of an hour before the door to their damp, dank cell creaked open and Draco Malfoy slinked in carrying a tray.

Instantly, Snape stiffened and drew Hermione closer to him protectively.

Draco paused and sneered at them. "Why, aren't you two rather cozy? Gee, Professor, I never thought you would've lowered your standards enough to consider a student."

Snape furrowed his brow and growled, but didn't loosen his grip on Hermione even a fraction. She, in turn, only nestled closer.

Draco shook his head, locks of white-blonde hair falling into his eyes, before placing the silver tray down before them. It was laden with two crusts of bread and mere Dixie cups of water.

"It's not much," Draco whispered, but his tone was more sincere than either had ever heard before. "I'm sorry. They're, err…they're not pleased with you, Granger."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow, but that hurt, so she straightened again. "They oughtn't be, really. I wasn't exactly kind."

The corner of Draco's mouth turned up to let her know he got the joke before the sullen face they all knew only too well reappeared. "I've never seen the Dark Lord so angry," he marveled, and the fear in his voice sent a shiver down his own spine. He glanced at Hermione incredulously. "What'd you _say_ to him?"

Hermione glanced at Snape and straightened. "He wanted me to betray Harry."

Draco shrugged. "A blind man could've seen that coming."

She bowed her head in agreement. "Anyone with half a mind should've expected my refusal."

Draco furrowed his brow. "The Dark Lord didn't?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side. "At first, he did. He wasn't surprised when I said no initially, but I'm sure he believed once he'd—liberally—practiced the Cruciatus curse on me that I'd come 'round."

Draco nodded. "But you didn't."

She braved her face to him and held firm. "No." She shook her head. "Voldemort—" both men flinched, "—has the remarkable inability to never quite understand loyalty. He thinks that everyone is out to do what he himself does so well, and that is to save one's own arse." She shrugged. "I simply tried to give him a lesson in devotion."

Draco and Severus exchanged a look that Hermione only caught the tail-end of, but which felt peculiarly like a "good-luck-with-that-one" look, to which Snape rolled his eyes heavenward and shook his head.

"Draco!"

He jumped when he heard his name being bellowed from the hall and straightened immediately. "Good luck," he murmured pathetically over his shoulder as he exited the same way he'd entered.

Snape downed his water, but thrust both crusts towards the end of the tray closest to Hermione. "Eat," he muttered forcefully. "You will need your strength—who knows how much blood you've lost."

He knew it was a loosing battle the moment he entered it, but he had to try. Meeting expectations, she sputtered disbelievingly, rounding on him as best one could from such an odd angle on the ground. "And you haven't?" she nearly screeched, picking at his blood-red shirt for emphasis. "Eat, or else I'll call Malfoy back here and tell him he can just feed you to the sharks now."

Snape held his hands up in defeat and bit back the retort that wouldn't have been heart-felt anyways. Instead, he murmured, "Yes, Mum," before picking at his crust, striving to make it last. She mimicked his actions, interspersing her bites with sips of water.

"Odd, isn't it," she said after several long moments, "how all the Death Eaters keep referring to us as…well, as lovers?" She laughed, more enthusiastically than would've been natural, and perhaps it was his imagination, but he heard a rather nervous ring in it. "Wonder where that notion came from?"

Snape studied her profile, for she was working very hard at not meeting his gaze—she could tell the darkest wizard to ever live to bugger off, but talking about her feelings was painful?

Snape put down the remnants of his crust and made a promise to himself that if these truly were his last few hours, he would make them count. Titles would be shed, roles ignored, and they would just be. Two people, two captives, who despite themselves had grown quite fond of each other during their months of incessant companionship.

"Despite their faults, these men are very good at reading people. It has become a vital part of their roles in this war."

Hermione nodded like she was taking mental notes before she deciphered the true meaning behind his words and it took her by surprise so much that she turned to him with wide eyes before she could help herself.

"You—you mean—what are you…what?" she stuttered, growing increasingly frustrated by her uncooperative tongue.

Snape smiled and took her hand very gently. "Hermione, I know that for the past seven years, I have been nothing but your Professor, and a sordid one at that. Only recently have I transgressed those confines to be labeled as your rapist." He spoke over her quickly, and loudly, before she could interrupt. "I also know, as sure as I am standing—well, sitting—here that I may never be more than those two things to you. And I promise you I will never ask you for more or less. All I can do is be honest with you, and in all honesty, you stopped being just me student the moment my foot caught yours in detention."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat and momentarily, she thought she was hallucinating. Perhaps she really had gone and lost it.

"From that day, I this overwhelming need to protect you. By doing so, it ensured that you and I spent quite a lot of time enjoying one another's company. I use that word because while I don't know your attitude towards the time we spent together, I know that I _did_ thoroughly enjoy it." He shrugged, and at that moment he wasn't the dark and greasy Bat of the Dungeons. He was a schoolboy, awkward and unsure of himself, talking to a girl he fancied for the first time. "I don't know how any of this works, and I'm sure I've already butchered it. What I do know is that I have feelings for you that surpass any I've felt for another human being. I care for you more intensely than I knew possible, and I fear very much the end of these 24 hours because I know you will meet a great deal of pain. I…well, bugger, Hermione, I like you. And be assured that I _do_ feel like a ridiculous, hormonal teenage boy uttering those words."

She considered him for a very long time and he merely met her with an unwavering stare. She toured her own mind, her own heart, with a torrent of confusion and tried to sever rationale from feeling. Yes, she _knew_ he was her Professor. Yes, she _knew_ that starting any sort of relationship other than an academic one was almost certainly against school rules.

But how did she feel? What was her heart saying? Well, at this moment, it was screaming—it might as well have used a bullhorn—and it was telling her to set aside every inane thought that passed through her mind and just listen.

She didn't know she was speaking until she was through. "When I separate you from the very grim man who taught me potions for seven years, when I think solely about the man who revealed himself in Paris the other night…there is no doubt in my mind, or truly my heart, that I like you too." She laughed at the shock, and the relief, that washed his face and colored his cheeks. "And yes, we really ought to think of a more mature way to say that."

Snape's heart leapt—he didn't know it was capable of leaping. He nodded. "We, of course, will not enter into anything inappropriate assuming we both make it back to school. But, after you finish your NEWTS next month, Hermione…" He glanced at the floor, and then back up at her, his eyes dancing. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

She laughed. It was a hearty, very real laugh and it shook her because she wasn't sure she'd felt that in months. And for a moment, she wasn't sitting on the grimy floor of a captive dungeon. She was beside a man who'd unashamedly professed his fancy for her, and it was in that mindset alone that she murmured, "I would love to, Severus."

**Author's Note: Making this part believable was a lot of hard work, and I hope I succeeded, so I expect a lot of lovely reviews :)**


	24. Vantage Point

Snape slept very little that night. Contradictorily, his companion was nestled soundly against his side for the majority of the night. That was just fine with him. Despite the chill of the dungeon and the growing anxiety at their increasingly disastrous predicament, he allowed himself to feel contented with her presence.

All too quickly, the door to the dungeon banged open and Hermione started, sitting upright beside him. Draco Malfoy sauntered in, wand aloft, and exclaimed, "Get your sorry arses up, then. Come on," a little too loudly.

The only problem with the scenario was that his wand was pointed at his own chest.

Snape furrowed his brow even as Malfoy spoke again, this time in a hushed whisper. "Take it and go. Knock me out. You'll at least have a chance."

Hermione gasped, but Snape wasted no time. Before he could act, she managed to speak one word. "Why?"

Draco turned his weary, tired eyes towards her. "I don't want this much blood on my hands."

Snape cut the wand across the air before another word could be spoken, and caught Draco before laying him gently on the stone floor. He severed the binds around his wrists and hauled Hermione upright.

He spun on her. "Stay behind me and you must promise me that whatever happens, you will do your best to get yourself out."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know you're bloody well wasting your time. Save your breath, and let's get on with it."

Snape's chest tightened uncomfortably, but her answer didn't surprise him. And as one, they ventured into the hall. He automatically sent a silent freezing charm into the vicinity and heard what sounded like three bodies crashing to the floor.

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Nice," she murmured before retrieving a wand from the body nearest which looked like a disarrayed Dolohov.

Snape clutched her hand behind his back and forged onward. Whatever they were held captive in was winding and damp, and he had the distinct impression that they were underground. That didn't exactly boost his spirits. Who was to say they were still in England, even?

They themselves were truly their only hope of rescue.

They kept their backs close to the wall and their eyes moving. Their muscles were stiff from days of isolation—Hermione still ached from the abuse—and Snape was doing his best to assure he was agile. He could hear footsteps, heavy ones, just around corner and he pushed himself and Hermione flat against the wall. He put a finger to his lips and waited.

It wasn't for long.

Lucius Malfoy's ridiculous blonde locks shone even in the little light they were given. Snape again slashed the air silently, and Malfoy crumpled before him. It appeared the element of surprise was indeed on his side.

He turned to Hermione to say as much but a hand closing around his throat halted him. Perhaps he'd spoken too soon.

Spots appeared in Snape's vision alarmingly as the hand tightened and was joined by its partner. He sank to his knees and clawed at the grip until miraculously, it loosened and then disappeared all together.

He caught his breath and glanced up to see Hermione, wand still pointed, shaking before him.

"It was the werewolf," she whispered, and there was an edge he didn't quite like in her voice.

Snape nodded and massaged his throat. "That explains the strength. I quite nearly went unconscious in a matter of three seconds."

She helped him to his feet and both waited for a moment to see if they'd caused a commotion. When none came, they collected Lucius's wand and forged forth. They could hear voices but they weren't sure about which direction they came from, and the darkness was getting disorienting.

Hermione transfigured her high-heels to sneakers when the clicking got distracting, and stayed very close to Snape. She didn't like not knowing the location of the others. Her heart was beating too fast.

Snape heard her breathing rapidly increase, and he clutched her hand in his. Perhaps it was the years of practice, but his mind wouldn't allow him to panic. Not yet.

They rounded a corner, and then it was they who were taken by surprise. A group of men stood, talking lightly and apparently awaiting Draco's arrival, when Snape and Hermione came into sight. None of them hesitated in drawing their wands and pulling their masks over their faces.

Snape glanced back at Hermione, who held his gaze for a moment before nodding silently. Simultaneously, they slashed the air.

Spell after spell hitting the air had a strobe light effect, and it made staying calm a daunting task. Hermione pressed her back against the wall where she could still see Snape's silhouette going strong, and she sent a severing curse at the Death Eater nearest her. It was satisfaction that met his screams, and he went down clutching the stubs where his fingers had just been.

She slid further down the wall and made herself as small as possible. Nobody was visibly looking in her direction, but that didn't mean much. She crouched until her hands and knees hit the stone, and she crawled into the middle of the action. From there, she was at the optimal vantage point. She sent out every mildly harmful curse she knew, and she watched their faces change from malicious to confused when they couldn't locate the source of the power. She took nearly the whole group out in a matter of seconds.

All but one.

A hand got tangled in her hair and hauled her to her feet involuntarily. She gasped, and her heart began to race almost painfully. Dolohov's wand clattered to the floor, and she searched wildly for Snape, to plead his help.

She found him, certainly, but he was in no shape to help.

He hung limply, suspended in the air, blood pooling in the space beneath his feet. She guessed his stitches must've ruptured again, but he was so pale this time, so pale…how much blood had he lost in the past three days?

"_No!_" she screamed and suddenly the hand in her hair was the least of her concerns. "Severus, wake up! Wake up!"

He disobeyed her. His head lolled back, the white tenderness of his throat exposed, and Hermione felt precariously close to retching. Just as she couldn't stand the sight of his vulnerability any longer, the hand spun her around and she was met by the blood-red eyes and snakelike face of Lord Voldemort.

"Why, my dear," he whispered, and his breath sent a chill down her spine. "I thought we had an agreement. You're trying to run? You don't find your lodgings…accommodating?"

He seemed to be waiting for the cackle of his followers, but none remained. Hermione fought against him a hard as she could—her previous bravery had fled her at the sight of an unconscious Severus Snape—but he stood strong.

"Don't kill him," she pleaded. "Don't let him die. Do what you will with me, I don't care. But please…_please_ let him go."

The Dark Lord laughed, and it burned her ears to hear. "Always the Gryffindor. I won't harm him further. But he'll remain where he is while you and I…play. How long that takes is your prerogative."

Even as he spoke, he fingered the hem of her dress.

Hermione closed her eyes and wished to Merlin that this was a nightmare. She felt the ridiculous urge to laugh, and felt herself come to the brink of a mental collapse. She couldn't do this. Not alone, not with Severus bleeding out mere feet from them.

She opened her eyes at long last and resigned herself to the abhorrent fate he spelled out for her. But something caught her eye.

A forehead bearing a most peculiar lightning-shaped scar.

**Author's Note: Sorry for the ridiculous hiatus, University and mid-semesters got the better of me. Hope you enjoy this one, and please, oh please, review!**


	25. To Wage a War

"Harry," Hermione breathed, only realizing a second after she'd uttered it that it wasn't perhaps wise to alert Voldemort of the presence behind him.

She needn't have worried, however, because at the precise moment that Voldemort's face crumpled with contempt and realization at her words, Harry sent a stunning curse straight at his back. The evil man before her went rigid, and would've toppled right onto her if she didn't side step him.

"Harry," she muttered again, rushing at her disheveled friend with a warmth that surprised even her. It felt longer than she'd realized since she'd seen a friendly face, aside from Severus's.

Harry met her halfway and the two collided into a compassionate, joyous embrace. "You're here," she breathed into his mop of untidy raven hair. "You're really here, I thought…Merlin, I thought we'd die here."

Harry pulled back to seemingly gauge her health and when he seemed satisfied enough that she wouldn't immediately keel over, he grinned goofily and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Gods, is it good to see you, Hermione. It's been half a week since we started searching for you." His breath caught, unaccustomed to the ball of emotion currently lodged in his throat. "I truly didn't know if I'd see you whole again."

Hermione rubbed his arm comfortingly. "But how on earth did you know we'd been ambushed?"

"Dumbledore is the Secret Keeper of Snape's private home in Lyon. He felt it the instant the wards were breached, and he roused the rest of the order and I."

Hermione furrowed her brow. She glanced at the man lying frozen at their feet, and shied away from him unconsciously. "But what now? What about the…the _horcruxes_," she whispered the word, "and if the order was with you, where are they now? You can't truly be alone—"

Harry held up a hand to stem the incessant flow. "Who lit the fire under your arse?" he exclaimed, earning himself a quick smack. "Firstly, no, I'm not alone. The building is currently surrounded by the Weasleys, Neville, Luna, and several of the professors. We've got Kingsley and a slew of Aurors currently parading these hallways, taking out stray or awakening Death Eaters. And Dumbledore is seeing to the, erm…" Harry cocked his head uncertainly. "The complications."

Hermione nearly felt lightheaded. After months and months of torment and dread, Harry's pronouncement felt too good to be true. Could it be—could it _really_ be—over?

And then she remembered the Potions Master bleeding out on the floor not ten feet behind them.

"Severus," she exclaimed, and turned on her heel. She practically leapt over Lord Voldemort and collapsed to her knees by Snape's side.

He now lay in a pool of his own blood. His face was explicitly ashen, paler than she'd ever seen, and she felt frantically for a pulse, convinced she wouldn't find one. And so it was a pleasant surprise when his skin moved very lightly-very weakly—but definitely, beneath her fingers.

_How could I have forgotten?_ she berated herself. She smoothed away his hair and strived to see through the tears that welled surprisingly quickly. Behind her, she felt Harry's inquisitive eyes glaring holes into her head but she found it only too easy to ignore. The crazed panic she'd grown so familiar with bubbled in her stomach.

Behind her, footsteps joined them. She and Harry turned simultaneously, cautiously. Hermione snatched the wand nearest her and mimicked Harry, who'd already raised his. They needn't have bothered, because Hermione could see the Headmaster's twinkling gaze from where she remained crouched beside Snape.

"Evening," he murmured politely as if making an entrance to afternoon tea, not the battle that would determine the fate of the Wizarding World. In a matter of seconds, he took in the precarious state of his dear old friend and his countenance darkened accordingly. "Does he have a pulse, Miss Granger?"

Somehow, seeing the professor so forlorn only worsened her anxiety. She nodded. "It's slight, but it's there." She glanced down at the man in question. "It won't be there for long though, Professor. We've got to move him."

The Headmaster inclined his head in agreement and turned his attention towards Harry, who was watching the exchange before him with an expression that would've suited witnessing an alien abduction. His jaw nearly hit the floor, it dropped so far.

Neither Hermione nor Dumbledore, who clearly knew more than he was letting on about the situation between the girl and the Potions Master, chose not to enlighten him quite yet. Instead, Dumbledore murmured, "It is done, Harry. There is nothing stopping you."

Harry righted himself, and eyed the Headmaster. He nodded deeply, gravely, and Hermione marveled then at how mature her friend appeared. Gone was the goofy grin and childish ambivalence to which she'd grown accustomed. In their places were undeniable strength and an extraordinary amount of bravery. She'd known him since he was eleven years old, but in that moment he was her superior.

He was their only hope.

Harry stood to full height and addressed the room, but his eyes landed on Hermione. "Clear out before I lift the stunner."

There was a moment of silence, before—

"Absolutely not."

Harry groaned inwardly. "Hermione, it is the only way." He considered her for a moment. "You need to get Professor Snape out. He needs you now."

Hermione ignored the discrete inquiry behind his mention of Snape and addressed solely his words. "Professor Dumbledore can see to it that Severus gets medical attention. I'll stay with you. As back up."

Harry shook his head and covered the distance between them in three simple strides. "It has to be he and I, Hermione. It must be solely the two of us, or else I can't compete. I can't be worried about you—though I know you can hold your own," he added quickly before she could protest. "I need to know that you're all safely outside the perimeter." His goofy smile returned but she knew it was more for her benefit than anything. "Don't worry, Hermione. I know what I'm doing."

That was perhaps the first time in their seven years of friendship, and adventure, that she'd ever heard those words from Harry's lips. That assurance, mixed with the encouragement scrawled across Dumbledore's face, prompted her to do the unthinkable.

"If you get yourself killed, Harry, I'll never forgive you," she murmured half-heartedly before engaging him in a bone-crushing hug. Before she could cry, she enlisted the Headmaster's help in levitating Severus. She followed them out to the entrance of the hallway where she paused and glanced back.

Her best friend had his eyes closed and his wand steady. Hermione's chest hitched and she prayed to Merlin that this wouldn't be the last image she had of him.

Swathed in a helplessness she really didn't care for, Hermione followed Snape's floating form out of the dungeon and into the dawn, where she gasped her first lung full of fresh hair in half a week.

Immediately, she was swarmed by an army of well wishers who expressed their exclamations of joy at the sight of her safety. She was passed around the order, continuously enveloped in countless pairs of arms.

When the greetings were through, it was Ron who spoke first. "Where's Harry?"

Hermione and Dumbledore exchanged a look. "Inside," Hermione said at last, "ending this war."

Her chilling pronouncement was met by an eerie silence, and they all turned as one to peer at the door to the warehouse. Whomever would exit would determine the fate of the their world.

And there was nothing to do but wait.

*BREAK*

In the nearly twenty minutes since Hermione had exited, the only change had been Dumbledore's departure. He'd gone to deposit Severus at the Hospital Wing before he could lose any more blood, only to reappear moments later.

"Poppy's working on him," he said to the group at large, but his eyes were on Hermione's.

"Was she hopeful?" Hermione asked despite how constricted her throat felt. She had to be hopeful, she was Madame Pomfrey.

Dumbledore looked at her for a long moment. "She will do her best."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and wished she hadn't asked at all.

Inside, an internal battle raged. Two men she held very dear to her heart were both currently fighting for their lives, and Hermione's nerves were strung so tightly worrying for both of them. She clutched Ron's hand for much needed support while Mrs. Weasley rubbed her back and tended to the multitude of wounds she'd received in captivity.

The silence was getting to her. She just wished someone would _speak _because her mind was currently a whirlwind she could not piece together. She'd never felt so jittery, so nervous, in all her life. The odds of one of these men surviving weren't exactly favorable. The odds of both of them surviving?

Dear Merlin, help them.

The group's collective anxiety swelled when the door to the warehouse creaked open ever so slowly, and they all caught their breath as one.

And out rolled the severed head of Lord Voldemort.

**Author's Note: ****Full of action! This was a fun one to write, actually, I like writing about Harry quite a bit. **

**Well, as always, PLEASE PLEASE review. They truly motivate me more than you can know. Without them, writing all this feels pointless-why adhere to a mute audience? **

**Tell me what you like, what you want more of, or even less of! This little story of mine IS actually coming to an end now. But it might not be over just yet.**

**I've got a sequel in mind!**


	26. Relief

Severus battled the darkness he'd been slipping steadily in and out of for what seemed like years. His head felt light, his legs equally so, but his torso burned. He felt the familiar suppressant of a pain supplement coursing through him, rendering him weak, but it seemed to do little for the wounds in his stomach and chest.

He finally managed to groan into consciousness, and the moment his eyelids opened, they promptly closed for the sunlight that crept through the Hospital Wing's drawn curtains wasn't a pleasant sight to wake to. Severus allowed himself a moment to lay still and take in his bearings, and he felt unsettlingly incapable of raising his own body. Each time he tried, his arms would shake with the effort.

With a guttural growl, he gave up, and slid down his pillow in defeat. He peered around him to find that aside from Madame Pomfrey whom could be seen doting about in her office, the ward was fairly empty.

If you didn't count the young woman sitting beside him, of course.

Severus cocked his head to the right and was treated to the sight of a soundly sleeping Hermione Granger. She was curled rather intricately around a stiff wooden chair, her head bent at an odd and obviously uncomfortable position, her feet tucked up beneath her. Her hair was pulled back from her face and she looked the very picture of innocence.

But then he saw her arms.

It appeared their stay in the Dark Lord's dungeons did a number on her porcelain skin. Across her arms, from finger tips to her shoulders, where her tank top cut off his sight, were deep, ghastly, half-healed scars. In some places, he could make out whole words. Her arms where the only parts of her visible, but Severus was willing to bet his entire Gringott's account that those scars didn't stop at her tank top straps.

In that moment, she stirred lightly and stretched. Severus averted his eyes quickly, trying to look as though he, too, had just woken. When she saw his open eyes, she started.

"Professor," she whispered at first, but then her adrenaline started flowing, and the reality of it dawned on her. "Professor!" She flew to his bedside like there was a fire to put out, and took his proffered hand within both of her own. "Oh, thank goodness," she murmured. "I thought…Madame Pomfrey wasn't hopeful, I thought for sure—"

She broke off, apparently unable to finish for the brutal reality of what she thought was too horrific to wrap her mind around. Her concern sent more warmth into the pit of his stomach than she cared to admit, and he allowed her a light smile before patting the back of her hand.

"There, there, Miss Granger. You aren't through with me quite yet," he muttered rather formally. His brow furrowed. "How, erm—how long was I out, exactly?"

Hermione took the liberty of taking a seat on the edge of his bed. "The better part of two weeks now. For a long time, it was so touch and go, Dumbledore and I hardly left your side for fear we'd miss it if your health took a bad turn."

Severus tried once more to sit properly, and managed it this time with her help, though he begrudged it. "How on earth did we get out?"

Her brow furrowed. "You really don't remember a thing, do you?"

He shrugged. "Last thing I know, you were crawling about the floor casting curses and I thought for sure you'd get it hit yourself…when in reality, it was I who got hit minutes later."

Hermione nodded. "There was blood everywhere," she gasped and then swallowed hard, embarrassed by her reaction. "Well, Harry and the rest of the Order, as well as half the Ministry, cropped up minutes after your lost consciousness. Dumbledore destroyed Voldemort's Horcruxes, all seven of them, and left Harry in the warehouse so the two could battle fairly." She shook her head. "I was watching you bleed out, and watching him saunter into his death. It was a nightmare."

Severus gulped, greatly afraid to hear the outcome, but knew the revelation was inevitable.

"And?" he drawled.

A slow, wide smile crept onto her face. "We won. Harry was brilliant—he hadn't a scratch on him. Which, obviously, is more than you can say."

Snape nodded. "I'll be quite all right. And you, Miss Granger?"

She cocked an eyebrow and studied him. "What about me professor?"

He growled at her avoidance. "I am not blind, girl. I see what those monsters did to your arms." His voice softened when she started. "Miss—Hermione," he lamented, "are you all right?"

She smiled lightly, but a tear rolling down her cheek betrayed her. She studied her arms, turning them over as if investigating. "Lovely, aren't they? Bewitched, I think, to heal slower and less effectively than they should." She swallowed hard. "They're…everywhere."

Severus felt an ferocity he wasn't familiar with burning in his chest when she pulled at her shirt a bit to reveal the word "Mudblood" written across her stomach for the world to see. "Madame Pomfrey and I have hit a sort of standstill at trying to remove them. We've tried everything."

He tugged her shirt back down to hide the offending mark before it sent his temper soaring to dangerous heights. "I've a salve in my stores. I can't promise they'll disappear, but they will fade."

She inclined her head in thanks. "The funny thing is that I don't remember them cutting me at all," she murmured laughing, though both the sound and pronouncement were humorless. "They must've used their wands amidst a bought of the Cruciatus."

Severus bit the inside of his cheek to keep his anger in check. An outburst would only upset her further. He reached up tentatively to tuck a stray curl behind her ear before cupping her cheek, a public gesture that sent a wave of relief through her. She'd partly expected him to pretend their conversation in the dungeons was a figment of her imagination, so this indication that he had no such intentions sent her heart soaring excitedly.

He wiped away an escaped tear with his thumb and made her look him in the eye. "That is precisely what they did," he muttered softly, "I've seen them in action. But Hermione, they can't break you. They can break your bones and your body and your skin, and Merlin knows they've seen each of the three through, but they can't break _you_. And they won't."

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and leaned into him tentatively. When he didn't reject her, she wrapped her arms lightly around his neck and felt his settling around her, one hand rubbing her back very gently. "I'm so glad you're okay," she whispered.

He laughed lightly in her ear. "My dear," he muttered lightly, "I wasn't about to let you out of your promise so quickly!" She pulled back to look at him, and he smiled widely. "If I have the facts straight, I do believe you owe my your company for dinner one evening."

**Author's Note:** **A little short, but I hadn't updated in a while and wanted to toss a bone out there, even if it is a scrawny one. PLEASE review!**


	27. To Wed

Hermione bit her cheek to keep from gasping as Ginny forced an intricate wreath of flowers through the curls she'd just tamed and braided.

"Would you quit your whining?" the younger girl exclaimed when Hermione couldn't contain a whimper. "You'd think it was knives I was weaving."

"Virginia Weasley, I pity your daughters; that's all I'll say," Hermione said through clenched teeth. In the nearly four years since Harry decapitated Lord Voldemort, she and Harry had had two lovely girls, and a third child, its sex to be determined, was certainly on its way. They certainly wasted no time in procreating. "Where are Lily and Molly, anyhow?"

Ginny spoke around the pin clenched in her teeth for safekeeping as she tucked an uncooperative curl of Hermione's hair back into the braid it escaped from. "Mum's got them," she murmured. "They'll sit with her and Ron since I'm to stand with you and Harry—"

"Is the dear Professor's best man, yes," Hermione laughed. "A pair I thought I'd die before seeing."

While he'd been her professor three years longer than he was her lover, referring to Severus so formerly felt nothing but foreign now. After he'd woken in the Hospital Wing, his recovery was speedier than anticipated. If you were to ask the Headmaster, he'd tell you it was the power of love gracing him, for you'd be hard pressed to see the professor without Hermione by his side.

They'd kept their relationship professional, cordial, while she finished her education, of course. Impropriety was not in Severus Snape's vocabulary. But the Saturday after graduation, they'd ventured out for the first time as a prospective couple and while Hermione was never a proponent, nor really a believer, of true love, she couldn't deny that nothing had ever felt as…well, right. As natural.

They didn't spend much time apart after that. He held his position at Hogwarts and she trained alongside McGonagall to assume position of Professor of Transfiguration. McGonagall gladly accepted her role as Headmistress when Dumbledore voluntarily stepped down. His health was actually very stable for being over 150, but he'd seen the battle through, he'd seen Harry victorious, and he saw fit to end an amazing career out on top; he retained a residence within the castle but only as a friendly advisor. Rather like a grandfatherly mischief-maker.

After the war, Harry was far more bent on starting a family than he was a career and though he accepted the position of Head Auror, he declined the offer of Minister of Magic. He'd had more excitement in 17 years than he'd ever desired and wanted nothing more than the calm life he'd been deprived of. Coincidentally, he'd made it is undying prerogative to force his friendship on an initially unwitting Severus. The latter had very little interest in befriending the boy who'd freed the Wizarding World but he appeared to have no say in the matter. Through the years, Severus noticed a begrudging friendship budding between he and the incessant young man and before he knew it, he was forced to acknowledge that Harry had somehow wormed his way into the former's closest allegiance aside from Albus Dumbledore.

Ron, too, had become an Auror but the taste of exhilaration he'd gotten during the battle was like a high to an adrenaline junkie; he wanted more of it, all of it, and he did his job perfectly. He'd started courting Lavender again about a year ago and if Ginny's intuition served her correctly, they'd be married before the year was out.

Hermione's wedding day was bringing about an array of mixed feelings. Former classmates were perplexed. Her parents were happy she'd found love, but forlorn that it was with someone a little over twenty years her senior. Those closest to her, however, those who saw them through the difficulties of her seventh year and the capture it culminated in, couldn't have been more thrilled.

As Ginny helped her tug her gown over the skimpy, lacy knickers she'd been forced to buy, Hermione lamented on the immense turn-around Severus had made towards her. It started after the attack seventh year, of course, but only furthered after graduation. It was like her interest in him sparked a side of him—his heart, maybe—that just hadn't been turned on previously. His temper, obviously, could never be turned off entirely but he rarely directed it at her. He was caring and attentive to an extreme and it almost pained Hermione to see him working so hard to assure that she was happy.

She knew he felt a constant inner discord, though he didn't voice it often. It was revealed to her amidst a flaming row—a rare occurrence for them—that he didn't feel he deserved her. It would forever be a sore spot, she knew, and she'd be spending an immeasurable amount of time in the future convincing him of otherwise.

Assuring him that she was all right mentally had been a beast of another nature. They'd been together nearly four years and not once had they been entirely intimate, and that was no decision of hers. They'd come close, but he'd always stop them before they ventured into what he'd single-handedly deemed forbidden territory.

It was actually that which invariably led to their infrequent rows. Hermione hadn't any idea how to convince him that she didn't equate him with the violence she associated with Lucius Malfoy. She remembered a particularly intense argument that took place not long after he proposed. He'd once again stopped her before she could take their intimacy to a step they hadn't explored and finally, her aggravation exploded.

"Severus, you can't really expect to marry without ever shacking up, can you?" she exclaimed. It wasn't her proudest moment, but she could not accept his frigidity anymore without proper explanation.

He sighed and reigned in his temper carefully. "Shacking up, as you so eloquently say, simply isn't in the forefront of my mind, Hermione, and I don't think it's a precursor for marriage. Quite the contrary, historically."

Hermione threw her hands up incredulously and vacated her spot beside him on the sofa. "Must you always be so damned polite, Severus? Its extraordinarily irritating and we needn't always practice on precedent." She turned to him imploringly. "Don't you want to…I don't know, see what you're getting, so to speak?"

Snape glowered for a moment. "Might I remind you that I already know?"

Her face fell.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, darling. I can't…" he sighed, and started pacing which was a sign of how stressed this conversation made him. "I can't seem to differentiate then and now. I…well, picture it, certainly. But the instant we reach the bed in my mind, you start screaming and crying and I look down and you've broken and—" He broke off, gasping for a breath he couldn't quite catch.

Hermione's own breath caught in her throat. This was the first time he'd ever spoken of his concerns so brazenly. She had, of course, an inkling as to the origin of his reticence but never before had she heard something so painful.

She pulled at his arm gently to urge him to rejoin her on the sofa before gathering both of his hands in hers. She cupped his face and said, "Oh, Severus, I'm so sorry. I…I didn't know you still felt so strongly."

He met her eyes and his burned with a sorrow he clearly hadn't dealt with. "I can't help it. I see it every time I close my eyes—I see you hurt, sobbing, violated. My own worst memory is the very one that haunts me."

She bit back a cry for that wouldn't exactly lull him out of his self-hatred. "Darling," she sighed, "I can't imagine. I'm sorry, I didn't know it was still so hard for you. But look," she pried, pulling his hands so that they caressed her face, "I'm here. And I'm fine, and I'm clearly not broken." She nestled her head into his welcoming embrace. "I promise not to try to coax you into anything you aren't ready for."

He kissed her head and rubbed her back gently. And in the position they lay for the remainder of the night.

A little over a year had passed since that night, but they'd come to a better understanding about the bedroom. As Ginny righted the bodice into place, Hermione wondered vaguely how the wedding night was supposed to go for them. Deciding she wouldn't pay it much mind, for this day was to be her happiest if she had to kill for it, she peered into the mirror just as Ginny declared her through.

"Hermione," she cried at last, much like a proud Mum, "you look absolutely stunning."

Hermione laughed. "And all credit goes to you, so soak it in." Still, she had to admire the way Gin had manipulated her curls into cascading beautifully around her shoulders where they met the lacy sweetheart neckline Hermione was so fond of. The bodice clung to her slender frame until a little above her knee, where it finally flared slightly into a mermaid style skirt. The whole affair was actually really imperial and Hermione mused that if she hadn't known better, she would've thought she'd happened upon a royal wedding.

The next fifteen minutes were such a blur, she couldn't have told you what happened if you used a pensive. The next thing she knew, she was watching Ginny hook arms with Harry and saunter down the aisle artfully, where they finally took their respectful sides next to Severus.

Severus…how the man could clean up. He'd had his hair tidied considerably and it shone around a face she found rather handsome. His tux hugged his leanly muscular body like he was born for it and she had to will herself to walk forward.

At long last he laid eyes on her, and she had to stifle a giggle as her father led her forward. His mouth quite literally gaped as he gazed upon his bride.

The ceremony itself was a whirlwind of prayer and vows and she didn't feel time slow until they were finally granted a kiss, which both accepted gratefully.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on," he whispered to her as they turned to greet their audience as husband and wife for the first time.

She let herself melt into his obsidian eyes for a moment because Hell, it was her day. "And you, Severus Snape, are the only man I could and _will_ ever love."

Joy surged through him and prompted him to steal another kiss before they ventured down the alter steps as Mr. and Mrs. Severus Snape.

**Author's Note:** **I do apologize for my lengthy hiatus, but I'm back and I'm through with school for the summer months! This story is very nearly finished-one more chapter-but I did promise a sequel, and a sequel you'll get. This chapter was such fun to write and I hope it's as enjoyable to read so pretty pretty pretty please review!**


	28. Bliss

Hermione stumbled in after Severus toward the front door of the holiday cottage Dumbledore had lent them. The flowers Ginny had so painstakingly weaved throughout her bountiful curls were now hanging haphazardly, her braids nearly entirely undone leaving a wavy mane to waterfall down her back.

Severus stopped her just before they could enter. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he swooped down despite her protests and lifted her easily as any chivalrous man should. She giggled girlishly and wrapped her arms around his neck, not at all minding the masculine saw dust and spices that wafted towards her.

He deposited her lightly in a velvet-lined love seat and kissed the top of her head gently. She closed her eyes and reveled in the sincerity, the decorum, of his gesture and was sad to feel him withdraw. It was short-lived, however, for he returned moments later with an uncorked bottle of fine champagne.

He poured them each a spot and they hooked their arms, as was tradition, before downing them. He took a seat opposite her on the couch and gathered both her hands in his, kissing them in turn.

"Was today what you'd hoped for, love?" he asked imploringly.

Hermione smiled and brought his hand to her cheek. "It was more than I ever dreamed, darling. I never was one for big white weddings, but I will cherish this day forever."

He let his thumb massage her cheek gently and took care to brush a strand of her behind her ear. At a loss for what to do, he muttered, "Are you hungry?"

Hermione cocked her head to one side. "You're avoiding it."

Severus leaned with mock incredulity. "Of course not! I'm being a doting husband."

She furrowed her brow good-naturedly and ignored his inane protest. "You promised you'd try." She caught his chin and forced his eyes to meet hers. "It's our wedding night, Severus. I want it to be a proper one."

He opened and closed his mouth several times before sighing. "I can't make promises," he murmured at long last, "but I will try."

The champagne, mixed with the alcohol she'd downed at the reception, was making her brazen and she wrapped her arms around him. "That's all I ask," she muttered, and then her lips were preoccupied by the trail of kisses she planted down his neck.

It didn't take much provocation for him to join and soon, they were standing, exploring each other's mouths like it was a new experience. Hermione let her fingers tangle in his hair, relishing in its silkiness. Severus moaned into her mouth and tightened his grasp on the small of her back.

When she felt a little more daring, she simultaneously pulled his tux jacket off his shoulders and took a step towards the bedroom. He hesitated, but when his lips broke company with her collarbone, he was eager enough to follow.

A trail of clothing followed them into the bedroom, all his, and when they finally reached the bed, she raised her arms welcomingly. "Do you want to do it, or shall I?"

Severus gulped. He was struggling, she could tell, but he was also finally enjoying himself too much to stop. It took to long strides to reach her and when he did, he whispered, "Please, _please_ just promise me you'll stop me the very instant you feel uncomfortable. Please, sweetheart."

She forced him to look at her. "I'm enjoying myself more than you know, Severus. Now stop this self-deprecation and take my damned dress off."

He studied her for a moment longer before finally, blessedly acquiescing. He very carefully, very gently, shimmied the bodice over her breasts and down the swell of her hips. When it pooled around her feet, she stepped out of it easily and slipped out of the lacy knickers on her own. The sight of her was more powerful than he anticipated and he moaned gutturally.

Severus pinned her to the bed and took in his beautiful bride; thin, white scars trailed across too much of her skin and he took a moment to trace the offensive word scrawled across her stomach.

Hermione glanced at the mark. "Ginny was able to cake makeup over the ones on my arms and chest, but didn't bother with the ones the dress covered," she murmured sheepishly. "I know they aren't the most enticing things."

In response, Severus leaned down and pressed his lips to her bare belly. "They are a horrid reminder of a ghastly battle, but they make you no less breathtaking."

She clawed at his back and he pulled the covers over them, and they spent their very first night as husband and wife.

-BREAK-

Hours had passed, and the coals of the fire were dying, but Severus could not will himself to sleep. He wasn't really trying; he was much too contended with watching the slumbering creature he was blessed enough to call his wife. Flowers lay scattered across her pillow, her hair was a woven tangle, but she was a perfect sight to him. Her porcelain skin almost glowed in the darkness, only marred by a dusting of freckles. Her lashes were long enough to brush her cheeks, her lips plump from his kisses. He pulled the covers up to protect her modesty, and her chest rose and fell so gently.

Their night had been blissful. He was actually glad they waited, it made it that much sweeter. There was a time when bliss, when the pure happiness he was experiencing, was so far out of his reach he daren't dream of it. Now, he held the epitome of perfection in the crook of his arms and feared to sleep in case he woke to find he'd imagined it all.

At long last, though, even he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. As the first rays of sunlight graced their bedroom, he succumbed to the most peaceful sleep he'd maybe ever had. For it welcomed him to a new life: a life of happiness, of love, of the beauty beside him.

He slept, for to sleep meant to wake in the dawn of a new existence.

**Author's Note: And we're finally through. Thank you, _thank_ you to all who have stuck with me through this endeavor. It is my favorite work to date, and I hope I can replace that with the sequel I'm planning! Please review. I'd appreciate ideas for the next step, as well as comments, criticisms-whatever you have for me! Thanks again.**


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